Beyond the Sylvan Paths
by Eva Galana
Summary: Grey Wardens do what must be done to end a Blight. Not all heroes wear shining armor & there are varying shades of Grey. FMage/Mahariel, M/Tabris, M/Surana, Alistair, M/Cousland; Romance/drama/angst
1. Chapter 1

_Welcome to my first story beyond the Halla Universe. This story came to mind and just wouldn't let go. So, I'm going to test my ability to write two full length stories at the same time. Good luck to me, yeah, I know it!_

_Anyway, the usual "I don't own any of this wonderful stuff, it's all BioWare and Boy! Aren't they great" dribble._

_Reviews are always welcome; crit as well. Please let me know what you think._

_Beyond the Sylvan Paths _

_Chapter 1_

She took a deep breath, allowing the power of the magic to flow through her body. She could feel its tingling in her very veins, and her heart soared at the pleasure it bestowed. The Keeper has always told her that she has a natural affinity to magic, far more so than any other mage she had encountered, even her own father, the Keeper's former master. She did not allow herself to feel overly proud with that knowledge; to become overly confident could well ruin a spell, cause her to become less cautious. A purple eye opened and she watched as her fellow apprentice seemed to struggle to hold the magic she had called forth. The mage did not allow herself to smirk; although she and Merrill have never gotten along, Merrill is the Keeper's chosen to take her place as Keeper. Say'reil has been chosen for something else.

Say'reil allowed the magic to continue to flow through her, expanding it to her limbs, releasing it out her fingers and toes. The effort to control it was extensive, but the Dalish mage had the ability, and this is one test she has never failed at. One of control. She heard Merrill curse before she felt the magic explode, uncontrolled, from the other mage. She did not need to open her eyes to know that the other mage had failed at the test.

Taking deep breaths, Say'reil let the magic go, allows it to seep back into her being, replenishing her spent mana. Once that was accomplished, she opened her eyes to see Merrill glaring at her.

A frown creased her smooth forehead, and she brushed a dark lock from her eyes. "What?" she asked, rubbing a slender hand along her forehead, unconsciously tracing the green leaf-like tattoo emblazoned there.

The Keeper's First merely glared harder at her, and then turned, leaving the other mage without a word.

With a slight shrug of her slender shoulders, she reached down and picked up her blades, sheathing them at her hips, and slung her bow upon her shoulder. Straightening her leather armor, the mage walks in the opposite direction, searching out her friends.

Say'reil was different from many mages, even those amongst the Dalish. She wore traditional armor for one, and wielded the twin daggers - Fang and Tooth - that had been her mother's. Her skill with magic was a gift from her father, the former Keeper of her clan. Although she was stronger in magic and could control it far easier than Merrill, Marethari had chosen the other mage as her apprentice, instead deciding that Say'reil would be trained and conditioned to venture out into the world, collect knowledge not just of the Dales but from other races and sources, and pass them along to any clan she happened upon. This was the role her own father had wanted for her, and the current Keeper felt it her obligation and duty to her former master to follow through with his wishes. _Revas in Dirthera_. Freedom in the Tales.

And so, even though Merrill was the Keeper's First, the First knew that had Say'reil not been chosen for an even grander role in the Dalish clan, the other mage would be the First. And that knowledge, among other things, had made it impossible for Merrill and Say'reil to ever become friends.

Say'reil sighed as she walked through the camp, pausing briefly at the halla pen, tossing some wild grain into the pen and smiling as one young female trotted over, bravely taking a piece from her outstretched palm. With a smile and a nod to the Halla Keeper, the young mage continued on her way through the camp, and beyond its westerly boundary.

DA:O

She found Tamlen an hour later, holding three shemlen at bay with bow and arrow. Pulling her bow free, she nocked an arrow, pulling the bowstring taut as she circled around to the young elven male's side. She listened quietly as Tamlen questioned the humans, demanding to know what they were doing so close to their camp. The men were frightened, so much so the mage could almost smell it. She feared Tamlen would cause injury to the humans, and thus cause trouble for the camp. Tamlen was fiery tempered, and hated humans more than most in their clan. Say'reil, being raised to go out into the world, was more accepting, and now tried to ease the situation by speaking quietly to the humans.

"Answer his questions, humans," she said, her voice soft and calm. "We shall not harm you should your answers prove innocuous."

Tamlen shot her a frown. He cared greatly for the woman beside him, but he had never appreciated her acceptance of humans. To him, they were vermin to be put down. He knew of her training, however, and had long ceased berating her about it.

Until now.

"What does it matter their reasons?" he asked fiercely, pulling on his bowstring, smirking as the humans cowered before him. "They will only seek to harm us." He turned his face fully to the men now. "I say we kill them now and forget their existence."

Shaking her head, the female elf stepped forward, her eyes upon the men she had questioned. "Tell me," she insisted.

One of the men nodded. "We…we found a cave," he jerked his hand backwards, to the west. "We found some things in there," he held out a hand to the female, glad she was not as hostile as her male counterpart. Say'reil reached over and pulled from his fingers a small stone token, carved with runes she recognized as ancient elven. Frowning she glanced up.

"Where did you find this?" her voice was a bit sterner than she had intended, and she almost flinched at the renewed fear that crossed the young human's face.

"What is that?" Tamlen demanded, stepping nearer, his eyes glancing between the token and the humans.

"I recognize it as a Story Token," she explained, holding it out to the other elf. "But, I do not recognize the rune carved upon it."

"Story Token?" Tamlen questioned.

"Not now," Say'reil admonished, turning back to the humans. "We know this forest well," she explained. "And had never heard of such a place. Where did you find it?"

Calming slightly, certain the female would not allow harm to come to them, the same human nodded. "To the west," he jerked his hand again in the direction. "It's a cave, but opens up in to some ruins. We had thought to find…" and he stopped as Say'reil's eyes narrowed slightly.

"So, you are treasure hunters?" she asked, her voice firmer than before. The human nodded fearfully. "Why did you leave?" she asked, her eyes back to the token in her hand.

"There were monsters," one of the other humans quipped out, "Demons. All dark with black eyes!"

"Thank the Maker we were able to escape!" the third man cried out, his fear very real.

Say'reil nodded, gazing at the token. She wanted very much to see this cave and find other artifacts of the Elvhen within.

"Do you believe them?" Tamlen demanded, "Do we let them go?"

Smiling slightly, with a small nod, "Yes, Tamlen. I believe you have frightened them enough. They have done nothing to earn your ire." She looked over at the humans. "Return to your people."

With hasty "thank yous", the trio of humans stumbled over each other, gladly leaving the presence of the two elves.

"So?" Tamlen asked, smiling at his friend.

"So?" Say'reil echoed back. "We go find this cave, Lethallin." She smiled, her dark eyes lighting up. Tamlen returned the smile, stepping closer to her.

"And if we find something, the Keeper will want to know about it!"

Laughing at her friend, Say'reil slung her bow over her shoulder, and then turned and started jogging in the direction the humans had indicated. Matching her own laugh with one of his own, Tamlen shouldered his own weapon and, with a whoop. gave chase.

They found a path they had never noticed previously, and followed it, believing it to be the one the humans had followed. They arrived at a cave's entrance shortly thereafter.

With a look to each other, grinning, the pair of young elves entered the cave.

DA:O

Say'reil reeled backwards, her breath caught in her throat. The air within the cave was oppressive, heavy, with a sharp scent of death and decay. Tamlen reached a hand over and steadied his companion, a worried look in his gem-blue eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, his voice heavy with worry and concern. The female elf nodded her dark head, her purple eyes - so dark, almost black - scanned the crumbling walls and piles of stone with interest.

"The feel of evil is strong here," she commented as she moved from Tamlen's grip, an almost scholarly fascination coming over her. She could see that the architecture of the place was not elven, but there were traces of elven influence in the graceful sweep of crumbling arched entryways and the almost vanished carvings upon the walls.

She ran one long fingered hand along one wall, almost able to trace one ancient elven symbol. A frown marred her beautiful face. _If only the writings could be read_!

Mourning the loss of the lore the mage knew to have once been found in these darkened ruins, Say'reil followed Tamlen along rock strewn corridors, ducking huge spider cocoons and webbing. The male raised a hand once, indicating for her to halt. He bent down, examining a piece of the floor. He moved back and, using the hilt of his sword, pushed down on a square of stone. The stone moved, a click resounded, and a set of four spikes shot up from the floor. The elven mage found herself paling at the thought of those projectiles embedding themselves into soft flesh.

Smirking at his companion, Tamlen rose to his feet, pushing open the door before them. After checking the floor therein, he motioned for her to follow. Gingerly stepping over the formerly trapped stone she followed after the Hunter.

The chamber they found themselves in was large, with large, gaping holes in the floor descending into darkness. Webbing and large cocoons hung from the ceiling, and rubble lay across the floor, barring entryways, and blocking paths. A strange, chittering noise resounded throughout the chamber, and it took a moment for the pair to raise their weapons as three huge spiders - easily the size of a small halla - spun down from strands of web and attacked the elves.

Tamlen was in the middle of two of the closest monsters, a deadly whirlwind of blade and shield, leather and metal. He danced easily between the two, bashing one away with his shield, slashing at the second with his sword as the other spider tried to regain its legs. He gave out an elvish battle cry, driving his blade deeply into the bloated body of one monstrous spider, driving his shield - again - into the bulbous head of the second. The first died upon his sword; the second, its head crushed in, staggered backwards, away from the fierce elf.

Say'reil focused on the third spider, sending out a blast of winter, the cold grasping the gigantic arachnid firmly. Frozen to the spot, the elven mage shot forth a bolt of lightening, the energy sizzling into the frozen hide of the creature. The smell of burning flesh rose, and the elf shot out a bolt of energy, killing the thing before it could move.

She turned and watched as Tamlen finished off his last opponent.

Grinning, she walked over to him, gazing into his blue eyes. He returned the look, gasping a bit for breath. "Well," he said as he stepped nearer to her, placing his hands on her arms, "that was invigorating."

She laughed, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his lips. His eyes widened in surprise; usually he was the one to initiate any affection. He decided he liked it when Say'reil made the first move. Grinning, he moved closer, wrapping her in his arms, and kissing her more fervently than she had him. She returned the kiss, then pushed him away.

"Tamlen," she breathed, trying to regain her composure. "We can't do this." She hated reminding him; they were not possible. Regardless of their feelings for one another, she would be expected to leave the clan once her training was complete, and that would be very soon. Tamlen, as one of the strongest hunters, would be expected to remain, find a bride, and eventually lead the clan's hunters.

Bending his forehead against hers, he tried to hide his disappointment, but knew that he could not. They had loved each other since fledglings, telling all who would listen that one day they would bond and together, Say'reil as the Keeper, he as the Hunter, they would lead their clan.

The adults thought it cute, that they would outgrow their infatuation. But each year that passed only strengthened their feelings for one another. Marethari had been the only one to try and dissuade the pair early on. She had failed. And now the pair stood with each other, stealing any moment they could before Say'reil's eventual departure.

"I love you," Tamlen whispered, pulling her against him, ducking his face into her dark hair. "How can I possibly be expected to bond with another?"

Choking back rising tears, Say'reil shook her head, pulling away from him. "Tamlen," she whispered her voice hoarse. "We knew that we could never bond," she shrugged her shoulders slightly. "since Marethari declared the clan's plans for me, my destiny was sealed."

But Tamlen was shaking his head. Stubborn, as always, especially when this topic came up. "I shall go with you," he declared, not for the first time.

And, not for the first time, Say'reil found herself reminding him why he could not, "Tamlen," she raised her hands to his shoulders, rubbing the leather gently. "We know not what we would find out there," she gave a wave toward the exit. "The clan needs all of its able Hunters, and you are destined to be the leader of the Hunters." She placed a hand under his chin, rubbing her thumb along his strong jaw line. Creators, he was so handsome. "You need to father the next generation."

"I want to father children only with you," he said, pulling her tighter into his embrace.

"This is not the time or place for this discussion, again," Say'reil said firmly, pushing herself out of his grasp. She flinched at the pain that crossed his face, and so she said more gently. "I love you, Tamlen," he looked up at her. "Never will I love another as I love you," she stepped forward to kiss him lightly on the lips. "But our paths will fork from the one we now travel along, and soon. Never to cross again."

Tears now ran down his face, and Say'reil made no effort to try and hide her own. She wished - not for the first time - that she had listened to the Keeper, had broken off with Tamlen long ago. But, she had tried so hard to forestall the pain she knew they would both feel. But, in the stalling, the pain would only be made worse.

"Lay with me," Tamlen pleaded, pulling her once more into his arms.

She shook her head, "Bonding with you will only make it worse," she said firmly, allowing him to hold her. "We could only be with one another once. If you bond with me now, you will not be able to do so with another until my death." She cocked her head at him. "I would not wish that for you."

"You would wish me to lay with another?" he growled out, releasing her, turning his back to her as he paced away.

"What I want," Say'reil replied quietly, but she knew he could hear her, "is not something I can have."

Tamlen turned, gazing at her. Her head was bowed, tears dripping from her cheeks. He had never seen her in such a defeated posture, and he cursed himself for bringing this subject up - again. In two quick strides, he gathered her into his arms, hugging her close, kissing her cheek, asking her to forgive him. She nodded in his arms, but sobbed against his chest. She had a duty to the clan; she knew this. And, as excited as she was about going out into the world, gathering knowledge, sharing it with clans other than her own, she dreaded never seeing Tamlen again. She dreaded knowing that he would, eventually, have to bond with another. His family was the second noble line in the clans, one of the last ties to their past. He had to continue his line. Especially as she, the last of the line that had once ruled the Elvhen, would no longer be able to carry on her own line.

"I'm sorry," she heard him say, felt him stroking her short, curly hair.

She nodded, murmuring, "I know," her arms tightening around him.

She broke the embrace first, wiping her eyes and face, watching as Tamlen did the same. "We cannot do this any longer," her voice broke as she said the words. "I will be leaving soon," she turned her eyes away, to the door leading further into the ruins. "We have to set aside our feelings."

"How?" Tamlen asked, uncertainty and resignation in his voice.

She shrugged, shaking her head in defeat. She had no idea. Rolling her shoulders, she glanced over at him, rocked by the love and devotion she saw in his eyes. Quickly, she turned away, heading to the door.

Yes, she should have listened to Marethari a long time ago…


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for the reviews: Nithu, voltagelisa. And the story alerts & favorites! They are always welcome. Oh! And I got another favorite author alert! Oh goodie! Those make me smile as much as a review does!_

_Please note that I am taking liberties with the Dalish traditions, borrowing from other lore to fill in gaps. _

_Go ahead and review, and critique, if you wish. It'll make my day. Really. I promise I won't mope._

_Beyond the Sylvan Paths_

_Chapter 2_

The pair continued their trek through the ruins, neither speaking to the other, lost in their own thoughts, fears and anguish. Tamlen knew Say'reil was correct; knew Marethari had been right all along. But, looking at the mage now, as she quietly made her way over the rubble, her dark eyes searching for any hidden lore or artifact, he could not bring himself to regret his feelings for her. He could still feel her lips upon his, her warm body pressed against his own. He closed his eyes, making a decision. He was not going to let her leave the clan without him. That the Keeper had expected her to gather the lore on her own in strange lands among the shemlen, durgen'len and others was unthinkable. And the closer the time came for her to leave, the more he thought so.

His blue eyes opened, and, glancing about, spotted Say'reil several yards ahead, standing and studying a statue.

Moving to her side, the young Hunter noted that the statue was made of marble, but much of its features had been worn away with time. Long, slender arms were held out, as though offering an embrace, one marble hand encircled around a staff. The head was still identifiable as elven, its face raised upward, an ornate crown upon its head.

"Do you know what this is?" Say'reil asked, her voice hushed in respect and awe.

The Hunter looked back at the statue. Something seemed familiar, but he could not put his finger on it. He said as much, and noted the slight look of amusement that crossed the mage's face.

"You never paid attention," she scolded him lightly, her cheerful tone forced. He merely grinned back at her with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"This is Falon'Din, the Friend of the Dead." She moved closer, a slender hand running down the figure's cheek. "It is said that, in ancient times, the People were ageless and eternal. They did not die as we do now, but instead would enter Uthenera - the Long Sleep. They would walk the trails beyond the Veil with Falon'Din and then those elders would learn the secrets of dreams. Some would even return to the People and share this newfound knowledge."

She continued running her hand over the statue. "But, after we were enslaved, and lost our immortality through the quickening, the People would pass into death and walk with Falon'Din into the Beyond." She frowned. "And never returned." She turned to look at Tamlen, who was watching and listening to her, taking pride in her knowledge, letting it show clearly upon his face as he smiled at her. She returned his smile. "If they took counsel with Dirthamen, the brother of Falon'Din, on their passage, his wisdom was lost, for it went with them into the Beyond also, and never came to the People."

She turned back to the marble form, gazing into its unseeing face. "Then Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf, caused the paths to the gods to close to us, and those who passed no longer had Falon'Din to guide them. And so we learned to lay our loved ones to rest with an oaken staff, to keep them from faltering along the paths, and a cedar branch, to scatter the ravens named Fear and Deceit who were once servants of Dirthamen, now without a master."

She bowed her head briefly, then looked around at the skeletal corpses that littered the ground. "This is just _wrong_," she remarked, frowning deeply. "That a place dedicated to Him would be so…" she broke off, unable to complete her thought, her gaze upon the long decayed bodies.

Tamlen stepped around her, studying the walls and floors. He could feel it as well. The further into the ruins they went, the more _wrong _the sensation.

A door stood before them, heavy ironbark bound in metal. There was something beyond that door, something valuable. Possibly lore or artifacts they could take back to the Keeper. He glanced over at Say'reil, and then turned to watch her approach the door, studying it as she got closer.

Neither of them noticed until too late the trigger on the floor. As she stepped upon an ornate stone, it shifted, the sound of glass breaking reaching their ears. The air filled with an acidic vapor and both elves fell back, stumbling, their lungs burning, gasping for air, their eyes watering. As they stumbled nearer the statue, several of the corpses lying upon the ground rose up. With a shout, Tamlen grasped his sword and shield, forcing Say'reil behind him, shielding her with his body as he brought his weapon up to bear.

As Tamlen faced off against the undead before him, Say'reil turned to face three opponents of her own. They shambled toward her, giving her time for her eyes to clear somewhat so that she could focus. Raising her hands, her fingers fanned out before her, she sent out a spray of frost, freezing the closest corpse to the stone floor. She shot a lightening bolt into the body, turning away to cast an energy bolt into the next shambling corpse, not even watching as the first fell, lifeless once more, to the floor.

Tamlen raised his shield, easily deflecting the scraping claw that sought his flesh. Twisting the shield slightly, he managed to shove it away as he thrust his blade forward and into its chest. With a keening wail, the creature fell from the blade to fall to the ground.

A second corpse shuffled over to the elven Hunter, a longsword held loosely in its decaying fingers. A quick jab of his shield, and Tamlen managed to dislodge the blade from the corpse's fingers. A wide sweep of his blade sent its head tumbling away, and the headless body slumped to the floor without a sound.

Say'reil managed to fell the second corpse, but the third proved quicker, and she had not the magic to throw at the creature. She reached down and quickly unsheathed her daggers, barely bringing them up to deflect a swiping claw. She danced under the swinging arm, slashing out high with Fang as Tooth darted low toward the thing's belly. Fang cut deeply into the creature's flailing arm while Tooth jabbed into what rotting flesh was left on the skeletal torso. Her mana had regenerated, but the mage found herself entangled with the walking corpse too closely to retreat. Ducking away, she barely managed to avoid the swing of an arm, raising Fang to deflect the onslaught. Growling out, she twisted her body, coming up against the thing. Tooth dug deeply into its chest, and she twisted, kicking out with one foot, sending the corpse stumbling backwards. Gasping, she pulled in her magic, and then thrust out her arms, casting the creature into a wintry grasp of ice. An arcane bolt finished it off.

Tamlen had felled several of his foes, and now faced a larger skeleton, this one wielding a two handed sword. The young man was covered with cuts, scratches, and a bruise covering one side of his fair face. Say'reil had turned, casting a minor (and the only) healing spell upon him before preparing to throw another spell. The Hunter raised his shield, blocking the strike, but stumbling back at the force from the blow. He heard Say'reil's melodic voice chant out the words to her spell, and watched as a tinge of ice covered the skeleton. It seemed to shake it off quicker than the others, and the elf dodged in, his sword leading, sweeping under the larger blade to thrust his into the rotten chest. He felt the crackle as the rib bones broke and split at the sword gained entry. The skeleton continued to fight, bashing at the elf with fists, bringing its head down to bite at him. Say'reil jumped to the side, trying to get a clear shot for a lightening bolt, but the skeleton kept moving, pushing Tamlen around as the exhausted elf tried to gain footing.

Snarling out her spell, the elf sent an arcane bolt into the skeleton's head. It staggered back somewhat, but regained its balance. Tamlen gained time, though, and bashed his shield into its chest, sending it reeling backwards. Ice again encased the thing, and Tamlen's sword drove forward, sweeping out, decapitating the creature. Both watched in mild horror as the thing continued to dance and stagger about, its claw like hands seeking prey. Tamlen's sword struck out again, removing the hands at its wrists as Say'reil sent her lightening bolt into the creature. It danced crazily before finally slumping down to the floor in a smoking heap.

Gasping, the pair hugged each other, Tamlen's arms gripping Say'reil tightly, fearful of letting her go. He kissed her head, holding his love tighter, reaffirming his decision to leave when she did. He would be her protector, as he should be.

Still shivering, Say'reil gently pushed herself from Tamlen's grasp, leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the cheek, brushing the other cheek with a smooth hand. Taking a breath, she turned to the door, resuming her study of the carvings upon its surface.

Wary, alert for more danger, Tamlen stepped to the mage's side, his sword and shield out and battle ready. He saw her bring a hand to her face, rubbing the bridge of her nose. With a shake of her head, she straightened.

"I think I'm getting too tired," she muttered, glaring at the door. "I can't focus on the carvings. My mind feels…muddled."

Nodding, he placed an arm across her shoulders, relieved that she relaxed into him rather than pull away. "It's this place," he replied. "It just doesn't feel…right." His eyes glanced upwards, at the ceiling broken, overhanging and covered with webbing above. "It's hard to believe that a place so…wrong would have anything to do with our people."

Say'reil nodded, putting her head upon his shoulder. "And yet there are elven artifacts here." She rapped the door behind her with a knuckle. "These carvings are elvish as well." Her eyes closed as Tamlen's heat penetrated her, his scent calming her nerves.

"Do you want to see what's behind this door?" Tamlen asked, watching as her face relaxed, resisting the urge to kiss her.

Nodding her head against his shoulder, she straightened, staring at the door. "Think you can handle the lock?" she asked, sweeping a hand out toward the door an invitation.

Chuckling, Tamlen bent down, pushing Say'reil a bit, "You're in my light," he complained as she swatted at him, glad for the moment of revelry, however brief it was.

He studied the locking mechanism carefully, pulling a tool from the braid in his hair. He carefully worked the mechanism, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth as he concentrated on his work. He paused, putting an ear to the door. Yes, there it was. He was certain he heard a banging sound from beyond the door. A glance up told him that Say'reil had heard it as well. She moved back from the door, unslinging her bow, the air fairly tingling as she gathered her magical energy.

Nodding to her, he turned back to the lock. A flick of a wrist, a deft twist of the pick, and the tumblers within clicked. Rising, his sword in hand, shield strapped to his arm, Tamlen turned the knob, pushing open the door. His shield immediately in hand as the door swung open, revealing the chamber's sole occupant.

Both elves were stunned by the image of the monstrous bear that descended upon them, a loud growl issuing from snarling lips. Easily larger than a great bear either had seen, the creature's body was further armored with bristling spikes. It leaped at the Hunter, its massive front paws trying to bear him down to the uneven floor. Say'reil released a winter's grasp spell, but it only slowed the creature down instead of stopping it in its tracks. Cursing in elvish, the mage sent off a lightening bolt, conscious of the fact that Tamlen may be hit.

The male dodged to the side, barely escaping the descending claws of the beast. With a shout, he bashed his shield into its side, feeling the vibration rush up his arm from the impact, jarring his shoulder. Twisting away, he positioned his sword and drove it forward with all his strength, helping it along with a shove of his hip, knowing that the hide of a bear would tough and usually resistant to a blade. The blade barely made a scratch upon the tough pelt.

The smell of burned flesh and hair arose as Say'reil's lightening bolt coursed over the bereskarn's form, causing the monstrosity to turn away from the Hunter nagging its flank and concentrate on the mage. Choking down a moment of fear, the Dalish mage summoned forth a stream of flame, eyes watering at the smoke and stench that arose from the burning flesh of the beast. With a roar, the tainted bear surged toward the mage, rushing her. She stumbled back, falling the ground, as the thing advanced upon her. Her spells spent, she grasped for her daggers.

Tamlen spun around, fighting his own fear as he watched the monster bear rise upon its hind legs to smash down upon Say'reil. With a shout, the Dalish warrior quickly divested himself of his shield as he launched himself upon the creature's back. Wrapping his legs around it, he grasped his blade in both hands, driving it down into the thick neck of the beast. The warrior barely registered the mage scrambling from underneath the beast as he gave his blade a vicious twist, pushing his full weight behind the blade to drive it further into its neck.

Spinning, trying to rid itself of its unwanted rider, the bereskarn angrily snarled, trying to swing its head, now pinned in place by the unforgiving ironbark blade firmly in its flesh. Tamlen shifted his seating somewhat, keeping his legs firmly locked at the beast's sides. He felt a warm tingle come over him as Say'reil's sole healing spell washed over him. Relief swept through him as he realized she was well enough to cast the spell.

Massive amounts of black blood poured from the now gaping wound at the creature's neck, covering Tamlen's legs, hands and arms. He gave the blade a twist, and turned his head to the side as more blood spurted, splashing his chest and face. He spat out a mouthful of the vile stuff, twisting and pushing the blade further and to the hilt. The monster was slowing down. It shuddered as an energy bolt from Say'reil found purchase in its flesh, followed closely by her winter's grasp spell.

Weakened, the beast flopped to the floor, succumbing to both blade and spell.

Tamlen stumbled from the now still back, grasping hold of Say'reil firmly, checking her over for injuries. She was scrapped up, a gash along her right forearm where the beast had struck her, but otherwise she seemed unscathed. Exhausted, yes, but thankfully alive. He looked into her face briefly, before pulling her to him, ignoring the black blood that covered him.

Shivering, she put her arms around the man she loved. "What was that thing?" she asked in a quiet whisper, her violet colored eyes staring at the dead monstrosity.

She felt Tamlen shake his head, his hair tickling her cheek. "Whatever it was," he said, breathlessly as he moved back, "its dead." He looked back at the mage. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said, glancing down with a grimace at the blood that covered her armor. "Of course now I'll need to spend more time cleaning up," she gave Tamlen a reproachful grin, and he had the grace to look sheepish. She pulled out a cloth from her pouch, rubbing the blood first from her exposed midriff, and then to Tamlen's face.

"It burns a little," she commented as she wiped the fluid from the other elf's face. He frowned, and nodded his agreement. He took the cloth from her hands and wiped the blood from his exposed flesh, then cleaned up the larger bloody areas of his armor.

Say'reil's armor was only smudged, but he wiped some of the blood from her as well. "I've never known blood to burn before," he remarked, his gaze settling once more upon the monstrous bear. Say'reil was kneeling before the dead creature, mindful to avoid the blood pooling under it. Of course she was studying it, he thought ruefully, grinning a bit. She glanced up at him, smiling, aware of his thoughts. She rose, her eyes wandering about the chamber they found themselves in.

The chamber was circular, and, as most of the ruins they had ventured into, the floor was strewn with rubble and other debris. The high ceiling was obscured with webbing, darkness and other ruin. Her eyes traveled downward again, along the rune carved walls to the cobbled style flooring beneath. In the center of the room, upon a dais with three steps, stood an ornate mirror, perfectly preserved and free of any debris.

The two elves glanced at one another, and Say'reil stepped forward, her eyes hungrily taking in each aspect of the mirror.

Surprisingly, it was intact. The elven mage could not discern any damage to the gilded, ornately curving frame or the seemingly delicate silvered glass. As she stepped closer, she found that, carved into the frame, were words. Her breath caught as she thought she recognized an elven rune or two, but as she neared, she realized that the symbols, while similar to elvish, were, in fact, not. "Tevinter," she whispered, a hand outstretched toward the writings.

"What?" Tamlen asked as he approached her side, his eyes upon the enthralled woman. She looked over at him.

"The writings," she said, gesturing with a graceful hand. "They appear to be Tevinter."

"Human?" the Hunter asked, his eyes narrowing as he turned his eyes to the mirror.

Say'reil nodded. "I have no idea what they say," she explained, a finger touching lightly upon one of the carvings before pulling back. "But I recognize them as being one of the ancient Arcanum of the Imperium."

The hunter scoffed, his eyes narrowed in anger. "Why would we find elven artifacts in a place obviously human?" he gestured toward the mirror. "Especially of the same humans that enslaved us so long ago?"

The mage shrugged. "Perhaps this place dates back to before we were enslaved," she glanced at Tamlen, placing a placating hand on his arm. "There was a time when humans and elves were on friendly terms." She turned back to the mirror. "This mirror is the only thing intact from that time." She reached out a hand to touch the glass, but Tamlen grasped her wrist, pulling it back, tucking her hand into his.

"The keeper will want to see this," he whispered, his eyes moving from the mirror to the elven mage. She nodded her agreement, glancing at the mirror with an almost hungry desire.

She moved from his grasp, walking around the mirror. "She will need to come here," she said, noticing that the mirror looked extremely heavy and was anchored to the floor. "With several Hunters for protection." She looked back to Tamlen, who was nodding his agreement, his eyes straying back to the reflective surface of the mirror. "There may still be more monsters and walking corpses about." She remarked as she continued her survey of the artifact.

"Hey!" Tamlen exclaimed, stepping closer to the mirror, his eyes intently staring into the glass. Say'reil lifted her head, and stepped from behind the mirror.

"What is it?" she asked, moving to Tamlen's side, her brow furrowed with concern.

"Did you see that?" he asked, gesturing toward the glass. "I saw something."

Say'reil frowned, turning back to the mirror, peering into the reflective glass. "I see nothing but our images," she replied, moving to turn away and back to her studying of the runes along the frame.

"No," he reached over and grasped her arm, pulling her back. "See?" he pointed to the mirror. "There it is again. I see…a place, someplace underground and dark," he moved closer, his other hand reaching over, lightly touching the glass. It swirled around his fingertips, seeming to wash over his hand. He glanced back at Say'reil, noticing the look that combined concern and intrigue there. _Creators, she was beautiful_, he thought, smiling at her.

"Tamlen," she said in a soft, yet firm, voice, placing a smooth hand upon the hand that still held her. Tugging at him, she tried to step back, "move away from the mirror," she commanded, trying to move the stronger elf back and away.

He chuckled at her. "Why?" he asked, his eyes now fixed upon the mirror's surface. "There's magic here, can't you feel it?"

Nodding, bracing her feet, the mage again attempted to move the other away. "Yes, Tamlen, I feel it." Her voice had an almost frantic quality, and Tamlen could not ignore that. He turned a questioning look to her. "It's dark magic, Tamlen." she confirmed, watching in dismay as his eyes went back to the mirror. "Move away!" she said more firmly, reaching over to knock his other hand free of the mirror.

"I…I can't!" he cried out, his body frozen on the spot, his hand immovable. "I can't look away!" He tried to command his body to move, to push Say'reil away, but he couldn't. Fear, real fear, overtook him. "Get away, Say'reil! They've seen me! Something is coming…!" He tried to face her, but couldn't.

The hunter was jerked forward, toward the mirror. Say'reil's grasp upon his tightened, trying to keep him in place. But a bright white flash shot from the mirror, followed by a shockwave that shook the chamber. Say'reil was knocked back, off her feet, slamming onto her back off the dais and upon the dirt and blood covered ground. She watched in horror as Tamlen's body was enveloped in the weird white light. "_Ma'arlath_, Say'reil!" he cried out, and a second flash erupted, enveloping the chamber. She heard a scream, and was surprised that it came from her own throat.

Another sound, from the mirror, rose to her ears. A dark, husky, evil chuckle. And then there were more. Gasping, unable to breathe, the elf tried to push herself up, calling out Tamlen's name. Only the chuckles, approaching, answered her call. Nausea rose and her head spinning, Say'reil tried to rise again, her legs betraying her. Reaching out, she grasped the ridges of the ruined cobblestones, pulling herself along the ground and from the chamber. Using the doorframe to steady herself, she rose up, squinting back into the chamber. She could not see Tamlen, nor would he respond to her calls. Crying out, tears running down her cheeks, she crawled her way along the walls, seeking the exit, hoping she could get help from the clan and save Tamlen.

She could not recall her escape from the ruins. Her mind was a blur, darkness filling in so many memories. Her long fingers dug into dirt, and she realized she had fallen to her stomach, and that dirt and grass were beneath her. She had made it out and was now lying upon the ground, just at the mouth of the cave. Her head slumped to the ground, and she fought against the urge to vomit. She heard a male voice - heavy, low, definitely not elven - above her. She managed to twist her head around, blinking into the dark face of a human man.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he bent over her prone form, his hands gently rolling her over onto her back, checking for wounds. She noticed his dark brows furrow with concern as he took in her bedraggled and bloodied state. He leaned nearer, picking her up into his arms, whispering to her just before she slipped into black oblivion. "I am so sorry."

DA:O

_Ma'arlath = I love you_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks for my reviewers, Liso66, voltagelisa, and nithu. Nithu, thanks for pointing to another resource for the elven language. Always appreciated. And, if you haven't already, check out voltagelisa's 'Nobleman's Revenge'. It's an interesting twist to the Noble origins. _

_Your words help keep me going. Well those as well as all the story alerts/favorites I've been getting! And, as always, reviews and crits are always welcome._

_Beyond the Sylvan Paths_

_Chapter 3_

She awoke to darkness, pain and nausea. Bringing a slender hand to her head, she rubbed at her forehead, trying to dispel the ach behind her eyes. Sitting up, she opened her purple orbs, taking in the familiar sight of her aravel's sleeping space.

Heavy curtains had been pulled over the room's many windows. Pushing herself from her sleeping mat, the elf walked to a nearby window, pulling open the curtain. It was morning; bright sunshine streamed through the window, filling the small room with light.

Turning, she spotted the carafe of water sitting upon the room's sole table, along with a plate of cornbread. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to drink some of the water and eat of the bread.

The nausea and headache eased.

Next she noticed that she was not dressed in her usual leathers but in her mage robes. She frowned. She seldom wore the robes, save at Marethari's insistence. They were comfortable, with its short skirt, bare arms, and soft material. She just always felt under protected wearing them. She gazed about the room, but could not locate her armor, but did locate her belt, daggers, bow and quiver. She absentmindedly raked her long fingers through her short, curly hair, pulling out the tangles, then moved to her weapons. Belting on her daggers, she slung her quiver and bow over her shoulder, and then stepped from the aravel and into the bright sunshine.

She blinked in the sunshine, raising a finger to the bridge of her nose. Determined footfalls brought her head up and she smiled as Fenarel stepped near, a grimace of concern upon his handsome face.

"You're awake!" he exclaimed, pulling his friend into a tight hug. Not releasing her, he whispered, "You have us all concerned, Lethallan." he pushed her back, searching her face.

Confusion upon her own features, Say'reil asked, "How did I get here? How long?"

Fenarel frowned. "You don't remember?" he asked in his quiet voice. "Two days ago a shemlen carried you here." he waved his hand toward her aravel. "The Keeper has been using the old magic, trying to keep you alive." He smiled at her. "You've the Creators' own luck, Lethallan."

_Two days_? "Where is Tamlen?" she asked, fear rising in her heart.

The hunter shook his head. "We don't know. Most of the hunters are out looking for him." He shrugged, frowning. "The Keeper wanted to know when you awoke. I'll get her now." And dashed off to gather Marethari.

Say'reil stood, rooted to the spot. _Tamlen was missing_! She cursed herself, remembering she had left him behind at the ruins. A tear traced down her cheek, her head bowed down. How could she have left him?

"Da'len?" she heard Marethari's kind voice behind her. Sighing, quickly wiping any tears from her face, she turned to regard her mentor.

"Yes, Keeper?" she asked, biting her lower lip to try and control its trembling.

Marethari's sharp gray eyes noticed the gesture. Say'reil was one who always held strong control over herself, as she did her magic. The Keeper knew how close she and Tamlen were. She reached out a hand, gently rubbing the girl's arm. "How do you feel, Da'len?"

"Fine," Say'reil raised her head. "I'm fine. I'm worried about Tamlen."

The Keeper nodded her gray head. "As are we all, Da'len." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Tell me, what happened."

The girl's brow furrowed as she searched her cloudy memory. "Tamlen and I found a cave and ruins," she began. "We went in, hoping to find elven artifacts and lore." She frowned, closing her eyes. "There was a mirror, and Tamlen touched it. There was a bright light, and then I found myself outside of the cave, a human looking down upon me."

Her lined face crinkled further with her frown. "A mirror?" she asked. "And it did all of this." Say'reil nodded. The keeper thought for a moment. "Duncan thought you may have fought darkspawn within the cave. What did you encounter, child?"

"Duncan?" Say'reil asked. "Was he the one who saved me?"

The keeper nodded, replying, "He claimed to be a Grey Warden."

Say'reil shook her head. "We encountered walking corpses and monstrous bears." She scowled slightly with the effort of remembering. "But, I don't recall encountering any darkspawn."

"Dark magic," Marethari whispered. "But, at least not darkspawn." her shrewd eyes settled upon the other mage. "Are you well enough to return to the cave? I do not believe Duncan would be searching for Tamlen, and he is more valuable than any lore that may be found in the ruins."

"I believe I am," Say'reil replied, ignoring the headache and nausea.

"Take Merrill and Fenarel with you," the keeper spotted the hunter in question standing very nearby, obviously listening. His posture straightened at the mention of his name. "Take no unnecessary risks, and return as quickly as possible."

Say'reil frowned. "I understand why I'm to take Fenarel," she looked directly into the Keeper's eyes. "But why Merrill?" She had a difficult time keeping the dislike from her voice.

Marethari sighed. She was well aware of the hostile attitude Merrill had toward Say'reil, and thus the mage's dislike of having her go with them. "Merrill is my First, Say'reil. It is her duty to gather than lore for the clan. She has…not the training that you have had, and I need for her to observe as much as she can of the ruins, and then report back to me." She smiled kindly at the younger mage. "It is her duty to do so."

Frowning, ashamed at her outburst, Say'reil nodded her dark head, brushing a curl from her eyes. "Very well," she acquiesced, nodding to the hunter to join her.

The pair found Merrill near her aravel, which was set off away from the main bulk of the camp. The First gave Say'reil a penetrating glare, but asked questions of her - such as where they were heading - in a polite tone. Say'reil was certain that Fenarel's presence kept her harsh tongue silent.

Shouldering her bow, Say'reil led the others to the west, toward the cave and the ruins.

DA:O

The trek to the spot where Tamlen and she had first met the humans seemed to take forever to the young elf. Each step a reminder of the decision that could have cost her everything - Tamlen. Merrill peppered her with questions about the cave, the ruins, any of the artifacts they found, and Say'reil answered them with exacting detail, as befitted one of her talents. Fenarel kept his eyes upon the trees and path, not listening as the two mages talked.

While the mages talk, Fenarel spotted movement ahead. He raised a hand, hissing at the two women at his back. Say'reil, who has traveled most often out of the camp and in the company of hunters, stopped first, grasping hold of Merrill's arm as she continued past her fellow mage. The First made as though to argue against the familiarity, but something on Say'reil's face caused her to pause, and she, too, turned to the hunter who was accompanying them.

"Don't you feel it?" the hunter asked as he turned around to face the two others. Say'reil's face is drawn in concentration, and she nodded as she pulled her daggers free of their sheaths. Merrill looked more confused than understanding, but she followed suit, pulling her staff free of its shoulder holster.

Drawing his bow, nocking an arrow and holding it lightly between two fingers, the hunter indicated for the mages to follow, and they continued their trek, more cautious and quiet than before.

Fenarel's instincts, as they often have done, served them well. An arrow whistled by, barely missing Say'reil's face. The elven mage ducked down a bit, her eyes scanning the surrounding, Fenarel is battle ready as well, his bow up, bow string taut. Merrill followed the others examples and raised her staff, her own eyes scanning their surroundings.

It was Fenarel who spied their adversary first, and as he pulled the bowstring back and released an arrow, he gasped as the sight of the monstrosity ahead. It is shorter - shorter than an elf - yet broad and stocky. The armor it wore was of poor quality and spotted with what looked like old blood stains. It was its face, however, the caused the young hunter fear and his fingers to tremble as they pulled forth a second arrow from its quiver.

Grinning over at the three elves, the creature's face a terrifying death mask of skull like proportions, wide spaced, sharpened teeth, and eyes gleaming with malice. Fenarel's arrow embedded itself into the creature's chest, and as it bellowed out in pain and fury, two others of its kind have stepped forward, one drawing back on its own bow, the other racing to meet the three elves with duel daggers drawn.

Recovered from his initial fright, Fenarel sent a steady stream of arrows at the three monsters. He barely registered the sound of the mages' voices rising as they quickly called out their spells, blasts of cold and lightening danced about him and shot out at the monsters. The first creature the hunter had shot fell, dead, as Say'reil's lightening burned through its throat, felling it.

Merrill's wintry grasp took hold of the second monster, freezing it to the spot. Say'reil, being more experienced, shot out a stone fist, smashing it to the ground. Fenarel's arrow found it as it struggled to rise, and it, too, fell dead.

The third opponent, rushing at the trio of elves, its jagged edged daggers drawn, reached the hunter first. Fenarel abandoned his bow to the ground, drawing forth his shield and dar'misu, slashing out at the creature. Say'reil danced to the side, gaining a clear shot, and sent forth a fiery burst, careful to avoid inflicting injury to her friend. The creature howled, its eyes narrowing in hatred as it spun about to strike out at the mage. Merrill blasted it with an arcane bolt as Fenarel's blade cut deeply into its back. With a shuddered and horrific groan, the creature fell to the ground, as dead as it compatriots.

Panting, trying to catch their breath, the three elves stared at the body of the third creature. Say'reil took note of the creature's appearance: the death mask of its face, the lidless eyes, the black and mottled coloring of its skin. The thing looked like it should have been dead long ago, yet it had not moved like the other corpses she and Tamlen had battled in the ruins. Her own confusion as to the beast's identity was mirrored by her companions.

"What…what was that thing?" Merrill asked, a rare moment of open confusion detailed in her voice.

"Those," her hand waved to indicate all three bodies, "were darkspawn." She raised her eyes to her friends. "I recognize their descriptions from one of the Keeper's books."

The other mage looked up, her blue eyes staring intently into Say'reil's purple. "Darkspawn?" the First repeated a frown on her pretty face. She glanced back to there the other two bodies lay. "Were they here before?"

"No," the other mage shook her dark head, the curls tickling a path across her scalp. "But perhaps the mirror had something to do with it."

"Why do you say that?" Merrill asked, frowning at the other mage.

"The mirror obviously unleashed something," Say'reil replied. "And I am mostly guessing, as these creatures had not been present before the incident with the artifact." She shrugged here. "Plausible."

Merrill offered her begrudging agreement. Then her eyes narrowed as she focused upon the other mage's face. "Are you alright?" she asked, not from personal concern, but by way of observation.

Say'reil's eyes narrowed slightly. She did feel a little light headed…."I'm fine," she waved a hand, trying to sound nonchalant. "Just a little tired." She tipped her head slightly. "Why do you ask?" She had not thought she had betrayed how she was feeling.

It was Fenarel who answered. "You do look a little tired, Lethallan," he replied, taking a step closer, touching her cheek lightly with a hand. "And a little pale." he frowned. Say'reil was one of his best friends, and he tended to be overprotective of her.

She frowned at that. "I'll be fine," she reasserted, almost scowling at her friend for persisting. She turned her scowl upon Merrill, just daring the other mage to continue. Merrill met the glare openly, and then nodded. With a curt nod of her head, the mage stalked away from the First and the hunter, continuing to lead them toward the cave and the ruins.

Unease settled upon Say'reil the closer to the ruins they got, but she could not quite put her finger on what, exactly, caused the ill ease. It was when they happened upon a recently set up camp and fire pit that Merrill made mention of it.

"Do you feel that?" the First asked concern in her eyes as she turned toward the other mage.

Say'reil frowned, nodding. "I've felt it for a time, now. But," she glanced around the area, "I cannot quite identify it."

"It's too quiet," Fenarel stated his eyes on the trail ahead. "There should be wildlife noises - birds, insects, anything. But," he then turned back to the two women. "nothing."

Say'reil shook her head, "Come," she ordered, ignoring the bristling of Merrill. "The cave is nearby, and I want us to find Tamlen as quickly as possible."

Striding past the other mage and hunter, she ignored the heated look the First gave her.

DA:O

Despite her urging on of her companions, once the trio approached the cave's entrance Say'reil's feet grew heavy. She dreaded what she would find therein: Was Tamlen alive? Would they even find him, or his body? How ill would he be? She knew she had recovered because of Marethari's magic, but Tamlen had been missing for over two days now. There was no reason to doubt he would be ill as well, and perhaps worse so.

She felt a hand upon her shoulder and turned to meet Fenarel's concerned eyes. She reached up and patted his hand. He had always been a good friend. When they were younger, he and Tamlen had been rivals for Say'reil's affections. However, as they grew older, Fenarel realized that Say'reil and Tamlen were truly in love, and, as a good friend, had backed away. As more time passed, and it became obvious that Say'reil would need to leave the clan, the young hunter had become better friends with the couple, certain that at some time, Tamlen would need a tried and true friend when Say'reil's time to leave approached. That he was with her now meant a lot to the young mage, and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

Steeling herself, straightening her shoulders, Say'reil led the others into the cave, and further into the ruins.

DA:O

The deeper into the ruins they got, the weaker Say'reil felt. It was like her very life energy was being sapped away. She tried to keep any weakness from showing, however, the nearness of Fenarel and the worried glances Merrill would send her way told her that she was failing on that account.

As they walked through, she would point out the carvings and other evidence of elven inhabitation to the First. Merrill was interested, but the further into the ruins they went, the less the First seemed focused on the ruins and more so on Say'reil's declining health. The two mages may not like one another, however, they were clan mates, and as much as Merrill hated to admit it, she had a fair amount of respect for the mage chosen to dwell amongst the other races. She was concerned about her and wanted only to find Tamlen as quickly as possible, and get him and Say'reil back to Marethari for healing.

It was when Say'reil stumbled for the third time that Fenarel grabbed hold of her arm, refusing to relinquish his hold as he helped her over the debris strewn floor. He glanced back at Merrill and they exchanged concern filled glances. Merrill reached into her side pouch and pulled out two glass vials - one filled with a reddish liquid, the other's contents blue. She handed both to the other mage, ordering her to drink both down. Say'reil frowned at her fellow mage, but obeyed without a word of protest.

Somewhat rejuvenated, she straightened her back, giving Merrill a grateful smile. The other mage reluctantly returned it, and then scoffed, pointing ahead. With a slight shrug, the young elf turned and continued to lead the other two through the ruins.

Turning a corner, the trio stopped. Ahead was a small group of darkspawn, perhaps six in all. They were the same stout, stocky bodied creatures they had encountered outside. However, one of them stood slightly taller, with a strange, feathered headdress upon its head. Merrill and Say'reil exchanged concerned looks. They could feel the distinct touch of mana from the creature, although it was tainted and far weaker than any they had encountered previously. Unsheathing their weapons, the three elves engaged the darkspawn, seeking to end the battle quickly before Say'reil's strength lagged yet again.

Obeying the wishes of her companions, the elf in question stood back, concentrating on casting spells or shooting her arrows instead of engaging in hand to hand as was her wont. Fenarel easily dispatched two of the creatures, one by crushing its face in with his shield, the second deftly slicing his sword between its ribs and into the black heart behind.

Merrill called forth her entropic spells, casting a weakness spell upon the one in the headdress while Say'reil encased it in a thin veil of ice, then smashing it with her stone fist spell. The final spell tore it from its feet, tossing it to its back upon the ground. Merrill hexed it, disorienting the beast as Say'reil's lightening bolt blasted its life from it.

Merrill immediately started shooting off magical bolts from her staff at a near opponent while Say'reil shifted to the use of her bow, nocking an arrow and taking one of the darkspawn out with an arrow in its throat. Fenarel's sword sliced out, decapitating his opponent. One of the darkspawn, one that the elven hunter had not noticed before, stopped in its tracks, its body suddenly alights and dancing crazily as Say'reil's lightening enveloped the creature. Smiling at his friend, the young hunter stepped forward, leading with his sword, stabbing it in the throat. Gurgling out its last breaths, it fell to the floor.

Say'reil hastily gulped down another lyrium potion, cursing at the need to do so. Merrill handed her another health potion, which she drank down as well. She knew she had to get out of here soon, as her health was failing her yet again.

She shuddered as she and Merrill walked over to Fenarel and she recognized the area they were now in. Just behind the hunter was the statue of Falon'Din, and turning would bring her to the door…she took a deep breath and tried to control the trembling that threatened to overtake her. They had searched the ruins as much as they could, given its current state of dilapidation. Her only hope of finding Tamlen lay beyond that door.

"This way," she directed her friends, pointing to the door, _which was closed_. She frowned at the door, wondering how it would have been closed. She seriously doubted she had had the presence of mind to close it during her escape from the ruins just days before. Advising her companions to remain wary, as she knew they would, she stepped to the door and flung it open, her bow raised, arrow nocked.

The only things in the room were several dead darkspawn (similar to the one in the headdress the trio just killed), the damnable mirror, and a tall human male. Frowning, Say'reil lowered her bow and stepped inside, Fenarel and Merrill closely behind her.

"I thought I heard combat," the male said, still staring at the mirror for a moment longer before turning his attention to the three approaching Dalish. His eyes skimmed over the group quickly, settling a bit longer upon Say'reil. "You're the elf I found at the cave's mouth," he replied in a deep voice, surprise clearly evident in his deep tones.

"I am," Say'reil murmured, bowing slightly to the human who had saved her life. "I am Say'reil, and I thank you for my life."

Chuckling, the man replied, "You are most welcome, and I do wish I had arrived sooner, than perhaps you would not have taken ill in the first place," he smiled kindly at her, yet his eyes held a calculating presence to them. "I am Duncan of the Grey Wardens." He bowed deeply.

"Welcome, Duncan of the Grey Wardens," Merrill replied in as authoritative voice as she could. "I am Merrill, the Keeper's First." she bowed her head slightly.

"And I am Fenarel," the young hunter greeted without bowing, his eyes fixed upon the human with suspicion. "Did you fight all of these monsters yourself, human?"

Say'reil elbowed the hunter for his rudeness, but if Duncan noticed he made no sign. Nodding, he replied, "I did. And, I thank you for taking the pressure off of me," a waved hand indicated the doorway they had just entered via. "I am certain that the three of you took care of any lingering threats."

"Darkspawn," Say'reil commented, her eyes gliding over Duncan's face to focus on the mirror directly behind him.

"Yes, indeed," he responded, turning to follow the trail of her eyes. "This mirror is of Tevinter origin," he explained, turning back to the elves. He was mildly surprised to see Say'reil nodding in agreement.

"That much I had ascertained," she answered, taking a small step forward, her eyes taking in yet again the gilding and smooth surface of the glass. She raised her eyes to the human's dark ones. "This is the source of those creatures isn't it?"

A black brow rose in surprise. _How very astute_. "Yes. Long ago the Imperium used mirrors such as this to communicate over long distances. Over time most of them simply break." He turned back to stare at the mirror. "This one, however, has obviously become corrupted with the darkspawn taint, and must be destroyed."

Tightness formed in Say'reil's breast. _Destroyed_? "But, what about Tamlen?" she asked, cursing herself for how weak her voice sounded to her own ears.

A frown crossed the human's swarthy face. "Tamlen? This was your companion?" Say'reil nodded. "I see." He stepped closer to the elf, his dark eyes studying her. "You are tainted," he explained, not bothering to ease into the topic. The young elf before him was very ill. "Your Keeper's magic may have…delayed the inevitable, but you will continue to sicken and, eventually, die."

He watched as the elf's eyes dimmed somewhat, as though she was doing an internal inventory of herself. The brightened slightly and she nodded. "There is truth to your words," she conceded patiently, without any hysterics or denials. He smiled slightly at that. Her purple eyes met his brown. "What do you propose, then?"

"First," he stated as he stepped nearer the mirror, drawing his sword. "We must destroy this mirror." He raised his arm to strike, but stopped at the feel of a slender hand on his arm.

"What of Tamlen?" Say'reil's concerned and determined voice reached his ears. He closed his eyes and then opened them as he faced the distraught elf.

"He would be dead," he replied, watching as the array of emotions crossed the elven woman's face - fear, anger, worry, and sorrow. "That you survived is a testament to your own willpower and your Keeper's magic," he said kindly, placing a large hand over her much smaller one. "Tamlen has had no such reprieve." He watched as she fought against the rising tears, and then nodded, removing her hand and stepping back. With a nod, he raised his sword and swung it into the glassy face of the mirror. With a resounding crash the mirror shattered, the sounds of rushed mutterings and hushed threats echoing slightly around the chamber before vanishing.

Bowing her head down, Say'reil bit her lip, fighting against her fear for Tamlen. The Grey Warden seemed assured her friend - the man she loved - was dead. He knew more of such things than she. And, they had been everywhere they could within the ruins. She raised her eyes, staring at where the ruins of the mirror lay, seeing from the corner of her eye as Duncan moved to her side. Taking a deep breath, she uttered:

"_Tamlen na melana sahlin_

_emma ir abelas_

_vir sulahn'nehn_

_vir dirthera_

_vir samahl la numin_

_vir lath sa'vunin"_

Merrill had stopped in her tracks, turning to listen to the words from the other mage. The First bowed her head, fighting against the tears that threatened. For she, too, had loved Tamlen, although he had never seen her as she had him. Fighting against her anger toward Say'reil, the First moved from the dais to leave.

"Dareth shiral, Tamlen, emma sa'lath." Say'reil finished, then turned and left the ruins, following sadly behind the Grey Warden and her friends.

DA:O

_Tamlen your time is come_

_now I am filled with sorrow_

_we sing, rejoice_

_we tell the tales_

_we laugh and cry_

_we love one more day_

_Safe Journey, Tamlen, my one love. _


	4. Chapter 4

_As always, I own nothing - Nothing you hear! _

_Thanks for the alerts and favorites to this story. 'Course, reviews are always nice. But, then, I know that I'm still in the origins part of the story, so nothing really exciting or vastly different has occurred yet. But…but…I promise it will change._

_And, I have been having horrible, absolutely terrible writer's block, but I hope to have the next chapter up for The Halla Reborn in a few days (maybe by next weekend). Just trying to get everyone where they're supposed to be has been exhausting!_

_Beyond the Sylvan Paths_

_Chapter 4_

The trek back to camp was far too long, Say'reil's heart far too heavy. Merrill and Fenarel chatted with the Grey Warden, but the other mage had no desire to speak with any of them. She felt as though she had somehow betrayed Tamlen, yet she could think of nothing else that she could have done. Save for not having gone into the ruins to begin with. Argh! Her curiosity may have well cost the life of one who was dearest to her of all. Head hanging low, the Dalish mage followed silently behind her companions.

Duncan glanced back at the young elf who trailed silently behind, a frown of concern upon his rugged features. He had been impressed by the young elf's astuteness and intelligence, and he had a brief glimpse of the magical power she possessed. She had far better control than the other, the Keeper's First, which traveled with them.

He focused his thoughts and concentration upon Say'reil, frowning deeper as he felt the darkspawn taint growing within her. A slight pang of guilt assailed his senses as he turned from her to follow the path back to the Dalish camp. He would be offering her a place amongst the Grey Wardens, and her illness would make it far easier to convince her and the Keeper of the Clan to release her from whatever plans they had for her future. Otherwise, she would sicken and die. He knew that she would make a fine addition, both with the skills of a Dalish hunter as well as the magic she possessed. However, he knew how valuable mages were to the Dalish; he was certain that there would be some resistance if he could not convince them of just how desperately the mage needed to join.

His dark head spun around as Say'reil stumbled upon a root. He watched as the young hunter leaped to her side, gently taking her arm and elbow in hand, leading her around. The other mage's lips tightened in a thin line and he noticed that, despite the tension he felt between the two women, she was concerned for the well being of the other mage. Say'reil nodded her head at Fenarel, chestnut curls falling into her purple eyes, and the pair caught up with the others.

The frown returned to his face and he found himself picking up the pace to return to the camp to speak with Marethari.

DA:O

The quartet arrived at the Dalish camp shortly thereafter. The camp was aflutter with activity as the elves packed up their equipment to begin their journey northward. Children helped by picking up stray toys, books, and other small items, while the older folk repacked the aravels, pushing in the extending sides and setting harness to wagon.

The three young elves accompanying the Grey Warden frowned at the activity. It hardly seemed right that the clan was forced to leave the area while one of their own remained missing. However, this was the land of humans, and they had no choice but to leave, or face a war band of angry shemlens.

Standing in the midst of all the activity was Marethari, directing where certain communal items were to be stored, breaking up small arguments between the younger clan members, helping Hahren Paivel pack up his fire pit. With grace, the elder mage turned and watched the four approach, her gray eyes filled with concern and worry as she noted the absence of Tamlen.

The perceptive eyes fixed upon Say'reil's haggard face, and a frown brought the corners of the Keeper's mouth down. Her gray eyes flickered toward the Grey Warden, who was watching her with his own intense brown orbs. A slight frown furrowed between her brows, and she gave the human a slight nod of her gray head. With a final word to the elven man she was directing, she stepped toward the four, her steps as determined as those of the Warden's.

"Warden," the Keeper greeted, her eyes skimming over his face, moving only when he had acknowledged her greeting. Her eyes settled upon Say'reil's features for several moments, taking in how exhausted the girl looked. Exhausted and distraught. With Tamlen's absence, the Keeper had no question as to what caused her dismay.

Turning to her First, the Keeper asked, "What did you find in the ruins, Merrill?"

Straightening slightly, the First told the Keeper of the mirror. When the Keeper asked why they had returned without it, Duncan stepped in. "I destroyed the mirror, Keeper."

This met with a frown bordering on a scowl. "Destroyed it? May I ask why?" her hand waved to indicated Say'reil. "I had wanted to study it in hopes of finding a cure for Say'reil's ailment."

With a nod, Duncan asked that he and the Keeper went elsewhere so that they could discuss the mirror, the ruins, and Say'reil's declining health. After telling Merrill to see to her aravel's packing and sending Fenarel off to help the other hunters, Marethari turned to Say'reil, asking her to speak with Hahren Paivel regarding a service for Tamlen. With a slight nod, the younger mage stepped away, searching out the elder story teller. Her eyes filled with concern, the Keeper led Duncan to a more secluded area for them to have their discussion.

DA:O

Say'reil watched as the others departed, her heart still heavy and sore. Reluctantly, she sought out the elderly story teller, moving as though reticence would keep the reality of the request at bay. The elder, his wise face heavily lined, gray hair pulled back in braids, stood before the remains of his story telling pit, watching a group of children at play. He greeted the young mage with a sad smile, taking note of the absence of the normally ever present Tamlen. He frowned, his expression telling the young woman all she needed to: he knew Tamlen was lost, and his sad duty to perform a funeral.

After her discussion with the Hahren, the young woman wandered about the camp, lending a hand here, speaking with a clan mate there. All expressed their sorrow at Tamlen's loss, some expressing how they had thought the pair would have bonded, others merely sharing the grief of a beloved clan member's loss. Ashalle, her foster mother, hugged the younger woman to her, rubbing her back as she expressed her sorrow. As the pair separated, she pressed a copper key into Say'reil's hand, explaining that the contents of the chest the key went to had been her parents'. As they all knew Say'reil's time in the clan was nearing its end, the elder elf urged the younger to claim the goods as her own. With a bow of her head, and another hug, Say'reil went to the chest behind the storage aravel, carefully unlocking and opening the old chest.

Within she found an intricately inscribed set of Dalish armor, complete with greaves, gloves and boots. Next to that lay, neatly folded, a beautiful set of robes, cut for a man. Frowning, she dug deeper, unveiling a lovely ironbark amulet. Eyes widening, she pulled it forth, examining the intricate work that detailed the piece of jewelry.

The delicate laurel leaf pattern swirled, the intricate etchings catching and holding onto the light, causing it to dance along its surface. The chain, heavy links of finely meshed silverite, gleamed nearly as bright. She could almost feel the magic inlaid in the beautiful piece of jewelry, and she quickly clasped it around her neck. A slender hand traced the surface as she lifted it once more to her eyes. On the back, delicately carved into the masterpiece, were the elven runes, containing her father and mother's names.

_Adalardo Mahariel and Sine Ralaferin_.

Tears came to her eyes as she read the names of her long dead parents. Her hand gripped the amulet tightly, feeling the curved blades of the leaves dig into her flesh. She knew so little of her parents, save that her father died at the hands of human and flat eared brigands, and her mother, so full of loneliness, abandoned her infant child to commit suicide. Her dark head bowed somewhat as she allowed the distress that she had fought to keep under wraps to flow through her somewhat. She could well blame her illness upon her barriers falling, but in all honesty she knew it was her guilt over the loss of Tamlen that allowed these old feelings of abandonment to overtake her. Hastily brushing aside a tear, she raised her head, her dark eyes seeking out the Keeper and her Grey Warden guest.

DA:O

He felt that the conversation, sad as it had been, had gone quite well. True to the nature of her position within the clan, Keeper Marethari was wise, kind and thoughtful. The truth behind Say'reil's illness had caused the slightest flicker to break through the woman's composure, and her voice, soft with concern, had nearly broke his own. She understood the only cure for the dark taint that had settled within the young mage's blood would be to join the Grey Wardens. The Keeper explained how Say'reil had been trained to leave the clan, travel the lands and ferret out knowledge and information to pass along to any clans she met. It grieved the Keeper greatly that the girl's training, love of knowledge and learning would be wasted and Duncan assured her that, should circumstances allow, the younger mage's training would not be wasted. First, they needed to save her life. And there was only one way to do so.

With a nod, the Keeper agreed, and led Duncan back to the main bulk of the quickly disappearing camp to search out the young woman in question.

Duncan was pleased that, as soon as the pair had reentered the campsite, Say'reil was heading their way.

He watched as she approached. She was obviously tired, suffering from the poison that flowed through her veins. Yet, her head was held high, and her eyes still very clear, the intelligence of the woman shining through. Her skin was too pale beneath the tan, giving her flesh an almost sallow appearance. He would need to get her to the Tower as quickly as possible and have the mages prepare and administer the Joining quickly. He hoped that Darrian was at their appointed rendezvous; he did not want to delay his trip to Highever any more than absolutely necessary.

The young mage took the news of her leaving the clan stoically. After all, as the Keeper had pointed out, she had been prepared for the day when she would need to leave the clan behind. And, although the circumstances of her departure had changed, the fact remained that the day to leave had arrived. With a quick nod, she left to pack what items she could fit into a pack, including her mother's armor and father's robes. She left her aravel, surprised to note that the path leading away from the camp, the one she and the Grey Warden were to follow, was lined with members of the clan. As she walked down the line, she hugged or nodded a farewell to each who awaited her there. Standing at the end of the line stood both Marethari and Merrill.

As she neared her lifelong rival, she was surprised when the other mage broke down in tears, grasping her in a tight hug. Understanding that never would they see one another again in their lifetimes, the First had put aside her feelings toward the other mage, saddened now by the thought of her departure. Say'reil returned Merrill's hug; she had never disliked the other mage, and had often despaired at the distance that had grown between them. As they separated, Say'reil reached up a hand and gently wiped the tears for the other's face, offering her a smile and a farewell.

Turning, she found herself in Marethari's embrace, feeling a tender kiss applied to her temple. Tears threatened in her eyes, and she hastily wiped it away as she bowed before the clan's Keeper. Before she turned away, Marethari pressed several vials of an orange tinged potion into her hands. Frowning, Say'reil looked at her mentor, who advised her to take one vial whenever she felt overtired. Nodding, promising to take care of herself, she gave the Keeper a final hug.

Then, turning, not wanting to look back at her clan, the young elven mage turned to follow the Grey Warden from her clan, and toward a new life.

DA:O

The pair had traveled for several days before arriving at the outskirts of the forest. Denerim was only a few days to the west, while the Circle Tower was two days east of their current position. Duncan had explained to the young mage that they would meet up with another Warden in this area and from there they would part company for a time. Darrian, the other Warden, would take her to the Tower while he would continue to Highever to pick up another recruit.

Duncan set up camp while Say'reil went out to hunt up some dinner. They were to wait for Darrian to arrive before heading off. The Commander of the Grey was somewhat surprised that the elven Warden had not arrived yet; usually Darrian was early.

His head jerked up as he heard the definite sound of a body hitting the ground, followed closely by an "_ooff_!". Jumping to his feet, he pulled his sword from its sheath, ducking low as he crept toward the sounds. He jumped back in surprise as the bedraggled figure of the elven junior Warden stumbled into the campsite, followed closely by a frowning Say'reil. He did take note of the four rabbits the Dalish mage held aloft in one slender hand, while holding a curved dagger against the back of the stumbling elf.

The handsome elf's face was dirtied, as were the leathers he wore. Smirking at his friend, the Warden Commander raised his hands. "Say'reil," he called to the elven mage, "may I introduce to you Warden Darrian Tabris. Darrian," the human warden waved a hand to indicate the Dalish mage. "This is our latest recruit, Say'reil Mahariel."

"Ah, yes," the elven warden frowned as he ran a hand through his glossy black hair, casting a glance toward the mage. "We've met."

Both men noticed the Dalish's purple eyes narrow at the other elf. "This one," she hissed, giving him another push as she straightened, "behaved most inappropriately!"

His dark eyes narrowing, for he knew the elven warden well enough to hazard a guess at what the mage meant, Duncan asked, "How so?"

"Nothing really, Duncan," the elven male muttered, brushing the dirt and leaves from his leathers. "A mere…misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?" Say'reil snorted in an unladylike fashion. "This one," she jabbed her dagger toward the other elf, who flinched slightly but stood his ground. "grabbed me from behind." Her eyes narrowed further. "_After _we introduced ourselves and prepared to return to camp."

Had this been any other situation, any other female, Duncan may have been mildly amused. However, Say'reil was of the Dales. Not only that, but a member of the hierarchy of the Dalish elves: a mage, a scholar and, if he recalled his discussion with Marethari correctly, the last of the royal line. Dalish elves interacted with each other differently. What may have been able to be pushed off as playful was insulting to one of Say'reil's breeding. The look he gave the elven warden spoke volumes to the disappointment he felt for the other man, junior warden or not. Darrian took in that look and acknowledged it with a slight bow of his dark head, looking thoroughly repentant.

"Say'reil," the elf spoke her name with a great deal of respect and regret. "I apologize for my rude behavior earlier." He bowed his head. "It was not the best way to introduce myself to one who will be joining the ranks as a sister." He raised his head, his blue eyes fixed firmly upon her beautiful tattooed face. "Please accept my apology."

With a slight nod, the elven mage accepted his apology, and then set down to skin and dress the rabbits she caught for their evening meal. Duncan noticed that Darrian's eyes remained on the Dalish for a moment or two and then, clearing his throat, pulled the elf aside to discuss their travel plans.

When they were away from Say'reil, Darrian turned towards his commander. "Duncan," he started, a frown forming between his dark brows. "That girl is very sick."

Duncan nodded. "Indeed she is, Darrian." He let a moment of humor take him. "And yet, she bested you."

The elven warrior frowned, but would not be distracted. "How long?"

"This is her third day." Came the quick response.

Duncan watched as concern spread across the elf's finely tanned face, puckering around the angry red scar the bisected his right eye. That he had managed to not only save the eye but still see from it after the nasty battle through the Arl's palace was a miracle. "How could she survive so long, and still remain…?" his voice trailed off.

"The keeper of her clan is very skilled in the ancient healing magics of the elves," Duncan explained, his eyes straying back to the woman as she deftly spitted the rabbits. "Plus, the girl is very strong of will. Without it, she would have succumbed during the first day."

"So to the Tower, then?" the elf turned back to the human.

Duncan nodded as he handed Darrian several vials filled with brackish liquid. The elf grimaced at the contents before placing them carefully into a padded pouch he wore at his hip. "You will need to travel quickly. The First Enchanter knows how to prepare the joining. You must make certain that it occurs as quickly as possible. I've no desire to let her continue to suffer as she has."

With a nod, the young elf promised to do so.

DA:O

It was decided that Darrian and Say'reil would continue on to Lake Calenhad, to the Circle Tower of Magi. There, the Dalish's joining ritual would be performed. Duncan would continue onward to Highever, as he had heard of a promising recruit or two who would help bolster the ranks of the Fereldan Grey Wardens.

The morning dawned bright and sunny, the sunshine melting away the last vestiges of a harsh winter with its early spring warmth. The misunderstanding between the two elves seemed to have evaporated during the evening as the trio shared a dinner of rabbit, hard tack and cheese. Duncan was relieved; he had worried that Darrian's earlier prank would cause the Dalish mage to withdraw within herself or, at the very least, be hostile toward the young male. It seemed the elven mage was capable of not only merely accepting an apology at face value, but trusting in it and putting the matter behind her. Darrian could be reckless and a prankster, but Duncan had never had cause to regret conscripting the young elf from the Denerim Alienage six months prior. The young man had proven skilled with a blade, capable of self sacrifice and acknowledging a responsibility toward protecting those weaker than himself. The guards of the city were not very happy with Duncan, especially after he then returned months later and conscripted the human cutpurse, Daveth. The commander shook his dark head as he listened to the young elves talk to one another. The Denerim Guard would not be happy to see his face any time soon.

He chuckled at that thought, an old memory coming to mind. One of his first times in the capitol of Fereldan. Genevieve may well chuckle at his current predicament: between the human rogue and elven warrior, Duncan - former rogue himself and not insubstantial handful for his former commander - had his own hands full with trying to soothe bruised egos, recover 'lost' purses, and basically trying to keep the pair out of trouble.

He glanced over at Say'reil, who was smiling as Darrian told her some outrageous story, and then burst into a peal of laughter as he finished with a flourish. He had not noticed any further signs of deterioration on her part, but his concern for her continued to grow. Never had he heard of anyone outlasting the taint for any longer than a day before succumbing to the illness. Yet, the only outward sign of infection he could discern was the pallor of her skin. He could sense the illness within her, but it had not grown in strength since he had first met her. Her steps were sure, but he had noticed a slight change in pace. Darrian flashed a look of concern to his commander, and Duncan nodded his agreement. With a farewell at the crossroads, the trio separated: the two elves continuing on to the Tower, Duncan heading toward Highever.


	5. Chapter 5

_As always, I don't own anything; it's all BioWare's. They were there genius minds behind all of this. Yes, yes…there is a hint (hint, mind you) of jealousy._

_You'll notice that these chapters are shorter than those in Halla Reborn. Just trying something different. That may change, however, as the story progresses._

_Thanks for the alerts that come up every now and again. Don't be shy: go ahead and review! Really! Makes my day!_

_Beyond the Sylvan Paths_

_Chapter 5_

Say'reil had done well during their journey to the Tower. She had only needed one vial of the potion Marethari had concocted for her. She was not, however, oblivious to the concerned looks Darrian had given her as they journeyed at a quick pace. Those looks had been a combination of concern and disbelief, melting down to admiration as he noted her steps did not falter, nor did she complain at the bruising pace the junior warden set. She knew that the other elf moved for her own safety and survival; the least she could do was not make his job any more difficult than it already was.

For his part, Darrian was, indeed, concerned about the wild elf mage. He had never heard of anyone going more than a day tainted without becoming so ill as to find mercy at a blade. Yet, here was a girl who had not only gone several days, but still maintained firm control over her faculties. He could sense the dark sickness within her, yet it did not feel like other taints he had the misfortune of experiencing before. When his senses stretched out to the mage, he could almost think that he was sensing another Grey Warden, instead of an elf on the brink of becoming a ghoul.

And so the two elves, Dalish mage and Alienage warrior, raced along the forest paths. They held no conversations, saving their breath for their journey.

They did, however, waste breath for a sigh of relief when the spiraling structure of the Tower loomed in the distance. Darrian glanced over at his charge; he could see the dark circles under her eyes, and her mouth was held slightly open, her breaths coming in quick gasps. She had no uttered one word of complaint, but he saw her eyes light up when the Tower came into view. Hazarding a guess they had another hour or two at their current pace, the elven warrior offered the opportunity to rest before continuing on. Stubbornly, Say'reil shook her head, more determined than ever to simply reach their goal. Nodding with appreciation, the elven warden continued to lead her to the docks.

An elderly man by the name of Kester stood at the end of the dock next to a wide row boat with the word 'Lizzie' emblazoned along its length. The man gave both elves a warm smile and readily agreed to take them to the Tower.

The water lapped gently against the sides of the boat as they glided effortlessly across the still water of Lake Calenhad. The two elves sat next to one another, Darrian's eyes watching the water closely with a slight case of nerves, Say'reil watching as the Tower crept closer and closer. As she stepped from the boat, her gaze swept up the spiraling length of the ancient fortress, taking in the sweeping curves, runes and pictographs that were carved into its surface many centuries before. She took a step near, running a long fingered hand over the runes there, her eyes taking in each curve, line and stroke of the ancient writing. Darrian stepped beside her, watching as the Dalish mage took in the sight. He smiled slightly as she turned bemused purple eyes back to the elf.

"This is Tevinter in origin, is it not?" she asked in a quiet voice. The elven warden glanced up the tower and then shrugged, admitting his own ignorance.

"Come on," Darrian urged, taking her elbow in a calloused hand, pulling her toward the intricately carved doors. Say'reil nodded, allowing herself to be led into the Circle Tower.

Say'reil's eyes widened upon their entry into the Tower. They found themselves in a semi-circular entry chamber, complete with Templars standing as statues at the entryway, at a second set of doors on the far end, and along the curved walls. The walls were an intricate blend of runes, hieroglyphics and etchings, and the Dalish mage fought back her desire to simply take vellum and charcoal and make tracings for later study. Hoping she would get the opportunity to study the markings later on, she turned her attention toward the Templar stepping toward them.

This Templar, a young man with curly red hair and the clearest amber eyes, stood before the door, bowing slightly as the elves entered. His eyes went immediately to Say'reil then quickly back to Darrian's tanned face.

"Greetings," the young man intoned in a strong voice with a heavy Fereldan accent. "May I ask the purpose of your visit?"

Darrian stepped forward slightly, bowing at the waist, his arms crossed before his chest. "Greetings, Ser Templar," he responded politely, "I am Darrian of the Grey Wardens. This is Say'reil. We need to speak with the First Enchanter immediately on an urgent matter."

"Warden Darrian," the Templar acknowledged politely, then turned to another Templar. "Ser Carroll, please advise the First Enchanter that he has visitors." Ser Carroll bowed to the other Templar and then stepped away to so deliver the message.

"I am Ser Cullen," the young Templar advised, "Templar of the Watch. It will be my honor to take you to the First Enchanter's office," he stepped aside, motioning with his hand for the elves to follow.

They noticed a flurry of activity, with mages congregating in small groups, talking in hurried tones. The Templar, Ser Cullen, explained that a Harrowing had occurred last evening, and that the mage had not only successfully completed it in record time, but was even now up and about, tending to his duties. Say'reil had scowled slightly at the mention of the Harrowing; Darrian, however, asked what it was.

Ser Cullen explained that the Harrowing was the final test for an apprentice before being accepted into mage hood. Sometimes an apprentice failed, resulting in death. The elven Warden noticed that Say'reil's scowl deepened slightly as the Templar talked.

"What is it?" he whispered to the obviously angry Dalish.

"The Harrowing," she spat, trying to keep her anger in check as she glared at the Templar's armored back as they followed him up several flights of stairs. "Merely a way for your Chantry to cull mages."

He was going to ask more, but Ser Cullen had stopped in front of a door. Knocking once, he responded to a voice allowing entry by opening the door. He stepped in, introducing Darrian and Say'reil.

An elderly human mage, dressed in a robe of greens, gold, and browns, rose from the ornate desk he sat behind. His hair was a mix of gray and white, a bushy beard covering most of his lower face to his chest. In a voice gravelly with age, he bid the duo of elves welcome and then dismissed the young Templar. With a bow to both the First Enchanter and the Wardens, the young man made his exit.

The mage introduced himself as First Enchanter Irving, and made his respect for the Grey Wardens known immediately. "I would be honored to prepare this young lady's Joining," he promised Darrian. The elven Warden was surprised by the relief he felt wash over him; he had not realized until this moment that he had feared the mages would deny the request.

After stepping to the door and calling for the Templar on watch to fetch his assistant, Irving came back and politely engaged in small talk with the elves. He was surprised, and intrigued, to learn that Say'reil was a Dalish mage, and a glint of humor twinkled in his eye as he insisted, after the Joining of course, that she must meet Knight-Commander Gregoir. He also insisted that both elves remain the evening at the Tower, to which Darrian gracious and readily agreed, asking for permission to search out some information in their library, information he knew Duncan had wanted. Permission was granted as the First Enchanter's assistant, a young human woman who was introduced as Kayla Amell, stepped in. After giving her a list of items to be brought to the Harrowing Chamber (the First Enchanter thankfully missed the scowl that once again crossed Say'reil's features), he led the pair to the rooms they could use for the evening.

DA:O

"Are you going to tell me anything about the Joining?" Say'reil asked Darrian once Irving had left to make the preparations.

Smiling apologetically, Darrian replied, "I'm sorry, Say'reil. It's all a big, Grey Warden secret. Once it's over, you'll understand why."

Sighing, realizing she truly had no other choice, she stepped into the room adjoining Darrian's. Smiling at her back, the elven warrior closed the door connecting the two rooms, allowing the Dalish mage the first bit of privacy she'd had since Duncan took her from her clan.

Alone in her room, Say'reil stripped off her armor, going to the water basin and washing the road from her skin. A brush lay upon the armoire provided, and she pulled it through her chestnut curls several times, satisfied that it was at least presentable, although still wishing for a bath. With luck, after the Joining she would be able to take a full bath.

After brushing the dirt from her armor, she put it back on, turning to survey herself in the mirror. Her skin was unnaturally sallow in complexion, and she winced at the dark circles under her eyes. She stepped closer, studying her features more closely. Her eyes were still dark purple, but there was a hint of murkiness to them. She was tired, ached, and found her temper growing short. Against every bit of her training, the Dalish mage left her daggers and bow behind as she turned back to the door to Darrian's room. She wanted to get this Joining over with as soon as possible.

DA:O

Darrian called for her to enter at the sound of her knock at the door, pulling the tunic over his head as he heard her step in. Pulling his head free, he turned to smile at the unamused expression that crossed the pretty Dalish's face. Completely lacking contriteness, the elven warden smirked at her as she rolled her pretty eyes at him.

Dressed in clean tunic and breeches, Darrian turned at the knock upon the outer door. Standing there was the same pretty human assistant of Irving's. She was offering to take them to the pinnacle of the Tower to where the Joining would be held.

Irving stood at the center of the vast, circular chamber, a large, opal chalice set upon a small table. He was chanting, waving his hands over the chalice. Say'reil watched, intrigued, as the human mage then poured a vial of lyrium into the cup. Darrian paused, too. He had never seen the Joining prepared before, and had hoped to learn more of the ingredients involved. He had already known of the lyrium.

"Ah, you are here," Irving remarked, nodding at Amell, dismissing her. Smiling as he turned from his work to greet the two elves, her said, "I have prepared the Joining to Duncan's specifications." He turned his smile to Say'reil. "I look forward to speaking with you further, young lady, regarding the magics of your people."

Bowing her head, Say'reil replied, "As is my duty, First Enchanter, I would be more than happy to discuss any knowledge I may have. I hope," she raised her head, her dimming eyes sparkling for an instance, "that perhaps I may also learn of your own rituals."

With a bow, the old man left the pair alone in the chamber.

Nervously, Darrian approached the chalice. He knew that this was Say'reil's only hope for survival, but he had taken a liking to the other elf, and dreaded the possible outcome of the ritual. Of course, she would die for certain if she did not partake of the Joining, more than likely to his own sword. Even that knowledge did little to assuage his nerves.

He picked up the chalice, turning toward Say'reil. "Were Duncan here," he stated as he moved toward the female elf. "He'd give you some speech about history and what becoming a Grey Warden means." He stopped, staring straight into her eyes. "But, I'm not going to torture you in such a manner." He grinned at her smile. "I am going to say the words that always accompany a Joining."

Clearing his throat, his eyes never breaking contact with Say'reil's, he intoned, "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you."

Holding the chalice to her, the warden said, "Take this chalice, Say'reil of Clan Mahariel, and know that from this moment on, you are a Grey Warden."

Without hesitation, the Dalish mage took the chalice from his outstretched hands. She brought it to her lips, blinking at the putrid odor that wafted up. The tingle of lyrium, familiar to the mage, tickled her nose. She brought the cup to her lips and tilted it upwards, letting the thick, vile concoction to roll over her tongue and flow to the back of her throat. With a single, quick gulp, she swallowed it down, passing the cup back to Darrian.

The man stepped back slightly, watching with apprehension as the woman clutched at her head. A slight moan of pain escaped her lips, and he found himself fighting the urge to grab and hold her. She slumped to her knees, shaking her head. With a gasp, her head jerked back, eyes rolling back to reveal the whites of her eyes.

After a few painful seconds, she slumped forward, still on her knees, her hands flat upon the floor as they held her up. With another shake of her head, she rose, unsteadily, to her feet.

Darrian watched in amazement. Never had he witnessed a recruit rise after the Joining. Always, they would fall, either unconscious or dead, to the floor.

Blinking her eyes open, the Dalish mage met the astounded look upon the warrior's face. Cocking an eyebrow, grimacing at the pain that gesture caused, she croaked out, "What's wrong?"

Swallowing once, opening his mouth to speak, and then closing it in confusion, he tried again. "Nothing is wrong, as far as I know," he moved closer to her, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes, offering her a hand up. He looked at her closely; her eyes were clear, dark purple but having lost the milky haze he had noticed had been there. The circles were still under her eyes, but the yellow pallor was gone, replaced by the healthy tan he assumed all Dalish had.

"What then?" she persisted, concerned that she had failed the Joining. "Was it successful?"

Nodding, and then shrugging, he replied, "You're alive," he commented with a grin. "Far as I know, that's a successful Joining."

"Oh," she murmured, running her fingers through her hair, then grimacing at the dirt she felt there. "Well, since I'm alive, and now a Grey Warden, do you suppose I could get a bath?"

Laughing, Darrian guided the woman from the chamber, tucking this away to discuss with Duncan once they met up with him back at Ostagar.


	6. Chapter 6

_*Muttering hostilely to…herself* I don't own a darn thing! All BioWare…*leaves room muttering*_

_Thanks for the alerts that have been coming in like crazy. And, thanks for the reviews: Nithu, Superstar Kid, Pirate Ninjas of the Abyss_

_Okay, as some of you know, I don't go canon with my stories. This chapter is a perfect example: I know that the Chantry allows its Templars to raid Dalish clans. However, I never thought that made sense: despite the Chantry's belief that they are all powerful and all knowing, having the clans unite against them would always seem a possibility (after all, the clans united against the Clayne tribes and all but wiped them out). _

_And, I believe my avatar in my profile has changed to show you what Darrian looks like. I dunno…just seemed like a fun thing to do. But, it's not gonna stay there for long. I don't want anyone confusing me for a ruggedly handsome elven _man_!_

_Beyond the Sylvan Paths_

_Chapter 6_

A freshly bathed Say'reil stood beside Darrian in the First Enchanter's office, her face tense with anger. She had opted to dress in her Tevinter-style robes, but left her daggers and bow back in her room. Darrian knew - just knew - she wore the robe to provoke the templar, but could not truly find fault with her reasoning, not when her robe was far more pleasing on the eye than the Circle issued things the Chantry approved. The garment, obviously created for battle, was cut short to above her knees and left her arms bare to allow for movement also accentuated her womanly curves and beauty far nicer than her armor had.

Knight-Commander Gregoir, an older man (though younger than Irving) with a close cut beard of gray and sharp gray eyes stood next to the elderly mage, glaring at the Dalish woman while arguing with Irving.

"An apostate!" he growled out. "I cannot believe you allowed an _apostate _within these walls!"

Say'reil's own temper was up, and she responded with a growl of her own. "I am not an apostate, you fool Shem!" She stepped nearer to him, ignoring the warning look for her senior warden. "I am a mage of the Dales. We do not adhere to nor recognize your Chantry's laws!"

Rounding on her, the commander of the Circle templars snarled, "All are bound by the law of the Chantry! Whether you acknowledge that fact or not only further demonstrates your blasphemy!"

"How dare you…." she snarled right back, her eyes narrowing. Irving stepped between the two, his hands raised in a placating fashion.

"Gregoir, please," he turned to his counterpart, trying hard not to show any amusement at this turn of events. "You and I both know full well that the Chantry does not officially condone raids upon Dalish clans as they wander the forests…"

His steely gray eyes narrowing, the Knight-Commander turned his ire upon the man who was both his friend and adversary, "Irving, do not quote Chantry procedure to me," he frowned heavily, further lining his face. "The Chantry has sanctioned such raids in the past."

Here Say'reil snorted, opening her mouth to say more. It was then Darrian decided to enter the fray and try and calm the situation. Turning to the human templar, he remarked, "Knight-Commander," he managed to keep his tone calm, polite. "Whatever the Chantry's policies regarding Dalish mages is a moot point," he smiled as all three now turned their attention to him. "Say'reil is a Grey Warden. And, as such, regardless of her race, regardless of whether she is a mage or not, as a Grey Warden she is not bound by any Chantry decree." He frowned, his voice taking on a sterner note. "I would suggest strongly that you drop the issue now."

The Knight-Commander opened his mouth, fully intending to further argue the point. The look Irving cast him, however, caused him to flounder. Darrian gave him a look that brooked no further argument, and Say'reil's own expression was pure venom. Realizing that he did not have a leg to stand on with any further arguments, he bowed his head. "Very well, _Warden_," he begrudgingly agreed. "As you say, this _apostate_," he ignored the gnashing of Say'reil's teeth, "is now a Grey Warden, and as such beyond Chantry law."

"Thank you," Darrian responded, keeping the smirk from his face, allowing a hint of relief into his voice. "Now, we can get onto more pressing issues." He turned to face the First Enchanter, who made no attempt to hide his amusement from his craggy features. "As I was saying earlier, First Enchanter, the King and Grey Wardens would appreciate having a stronger mage presence at Ostagar…"

"No!" Gregoir nearly shouted, his fists clenching at his side. "I am tired of the Grey Wardens constant request for mages," he seethed. "We will not commit more of our own…"

Here Irving broke in with a chuckle. "Really, Gregoir. When have you felt such…kinship to mages?"

Already angry, seeking an outlet for that anger, the Knight-Commander rounded on his sometime friend. "How dare you…!"

It was then Darrian, pinching the bridge of his nose, turned around at the soft sounds of footsteps entering the room. Standing there was a young elven man, perhaps two or three years younger than himself. Say'reil, noticing Darrian's movement, turned as well.

Despite being male, the young elf was beautiful, with soft, blond hair cascading down the back of his neck, curling around his face with soft blue almond shaped eyes peering at them with great interest. He was shorter than the two elven Wardens by several inches, was very slender, with angular features and full lips. His eyes skimmed over Darrian's form with unveiled appreciation, and then rested upon Say'reil's beautiful face, lingering on the vine-like tattoo on her forehead, keen interest in his eyes. Darrian noticed his fellow warden's interest in the young mage, and found himself scowling slightly at that. Clearing his throat, he called for Irving's attention.

"Irving," the mage turned at the elven Warden's voice. "I believe you have a guest."

With a smile, Irving stepped toward the young Circle mage. "Ah, yes," he greeted warmly, placing a fatherly hand upon the younger mage's shoulder. "This is our newest brother within the Circle."

"This is the one of whom everyone was discussing?" Say'reil asked her purple eyes friendly as they met the younger elf's open gaze.

"Indeed," he turned around. "This is Alim Surana. Alim, these are the Grey Wardens Darrian," Darrian bowed his head slightly, "and Say'reil," she smiled warmly at the mage.

"Did I interrupt something?" Alim asked, just a hint of mischief in his voice, his blue eyes settling upon Gregoir's red face.

"Nothing you need concern yourself with, child," Irving indicated.

Stepping forward, Gregoir said, "I see you are busy, Irving," he spared a brief glare at Say'reil, "I shall speak with you later."

Before he left, Irving called out, "Please join us at evening meal, Gregoir," the templar turned slightly, and then, with a nod, stomped out of the room.

Shaking her head slightly, Say'reil turned to the First Enchanter. "I don't think he likes me very much."

Chuckling back at her, Irving remarked, "Well, child, you don't seem to like him overly much, either."

She flushed slightly, suddenly ashamed at her lack of control over her usually controllable anger. "I should probably apologize to the Knight-Commander for the lack of control on my part," she offered shamefacedly.

Irving merely shook his head as he laughed. "I wouldn't let it worry you too much, child," the elderly mage said kindly. "Gregoir simply is not used to a little spirited debate from anyone who is not a _very senior _senior enchanter." He smiled as the Dalish raised her eyes and returned his smile. "I trust you will behave at evening meal, however?'

"Most assuredly," the Dalish mage promised, casting a sheepish grin toward Darrian.

Alim watched the exchange with humor, deciding he liked the lovely elven woman for more than her beauty. After Irving presented the younger mage with his new robes, staff and Circle ring, he bade him to show the Wardens back to their chambers so that they could prepare for evening meal. As he turned to graciously perform the duty asked of his mentor, he was surprised when the First Enchanter invited him, a newly Harrowed mage, to the meal as well.

The walk back to their chambers were filled with answering questions - mostly by Darrian - regarding their order. Alim had a sharp mind and wit, and seemed eager to learn all he could regarding the legendary order. Once at their chambers, he bid them a good day with a slight bow, and then turned to join with one of his fellows, a young human male who stood nearby, impatiently tapping his leg.

DA:O

The evening meal went very well. Gregoir and Say'reil even managed a respectful conversation. Darrian felt a tight clenching in his chest when the topic of the mages of the Dales came up (brought up by Gregoir); but that feeling went away as the Templar and Dalish mage continued their conversation.

"So, there are no documented instances of one of your mages turning abomination?" Gregoir asked as politely as he could as he spooned a mouthful of soup into his mouth.

A dark brow rose up, and Say'reil shook her head. "There have been the occasional possessions," she admitted with a slight tilt of her head. "However, those were usually the result of a few mages practicing blood magic. And," she smirked slightly. "Quite more often than not those mages had once been Circle trained, having escaped their Chantry-imposed bonds." She pointedly ignored the slight indignant snort from the templar. "Elven mages who rejoined the clans only to loose their freedom with foolishness taught by the Chantry."

"The Chantry most certainly did not teach blood magic!" the Knight-Commander, forgetting this was to be a pleasant, polite dinner and conversation, fumed.

Say'reil, however, did remember her promise, and kept her voice low and calm as she said, "Not taught in the manner of a teacher to a student, no." She actually offered the templar a small smile before continuing. "And I know full well your Chantry prohibits blood magic. However," her smile fell, "sometimes by barring something you actually encourage someone to try it. Instead of teaching what blood magic is in all its form - from use, technique and consequences - your Chantry simply prohibits it in every instance, therefore making it far more romanticized and appealing to a mage seeking to increase their power, or," she looked pointedly at the templar, "freedom."

Her eyes challenged the Knight-Commander, and the man was wise enough to refuse that challenge. He merely smiled, and bowed his head. "You will forgive me if I find that hard to believe."

For her part, the Dalish merely shrugged her shoulders as she tore a piece of bread apart. "Whether you believe it or not does not make it any less true," she sagely replied, keeping her eyes on her adversary. "The truth is always true, whether it is believed or not."

Darrian smirked around his spoonful of soup at that. The girl certainly knew how to get her point across. He raised admiring eyes to her, and then did a quick scan of the table. He noticed that the young elven mage, Alim, was watching her with interested fascination. If the flush of her cheeks was any indication, Say'reil seemed to have noticed the Circle mage's attentions. Darrian realized that he didn't like the attention the pretty (yes, he was calling the male mage pretty) Circle mage was giving the beautiful Dalish woman. He frowned at that, digging into his food with gusto.

DA:O

The rest of the meal passed without incident, with both Gregoir and Say'reil declaring that they would respect each other's beliefs and hold off further hostilities until such time as necessary. Those in attendance in the dining hall shared a good chuckle and a round of applause at that.

Back in her room, Say'reil stretched as she pulled her robes over her head. Standing in the middle of the room in nothing but her small clothes, she thought back over the course of the evening. She had to admit it, she liked Gregoir. He was a man of firm beliefs, but seemed capable of at least listening - after some hair pulling - to conflicting beliefs. His was a strong belief in his Maker and the truths as the Chantry presented them. She could not fault him for that.

She also decided that she very much liked Irving. His was a sharp mind, and she could see the calculating quality in his eyes as he surveyed his surroundings and those within them. Every person was a piece on his grand chessboard. She had noticed the skill he possessed in keeping the templar and Dalish mage dialogues continuing. However, she could not sense any ill intent in his actions. She took it as his way of getting to know people.

Brushing her hair thoughtfully, she thought of the youngest sitting at their table. Alim was perhaps the single most attractive male she had ever seen. He was quiet, but very observant, and a few of his remarks during the meal showed a quick mind and sharp wit. She had noticed his attention to her, but she had also noticed that he had given Darrian almost an equal amount of attention as well. She grinned, wondering if the ruggedly handsome elven Warden was aware of how often the young mage's eyes went to his face. A sly grin crossed her face as she put the brush down. Somehow, she doubted it.

That of course brought her thoughts to Darrian, her fellow Warden. After their initial misunderstanding, he had been polite, respectful and acting only out of concern for her well being. She found she liked him very much, even appreciating his rather odd sense of humor. That he came from Denerim's Alienage she was aware. She decided to make a point in finding out how the elves therein lived, and how much of their heritage they yet retained. Maybe, once the battle at Ostagar was finished, she would be able to travel to Fereldan's capital and meet with the elves living therein.

Dressing in a white shift, the elven woman covered the magical lights in the room. Settling down on the bed, she pulled the blankets over her shoulders. With a prayer to the Creators for Tamlen's soul, sending her thoughts out to her lost love, she turned over onto her side, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

DA:O

A hoard of darkspawn amassed, chortling their harsh laughter, attacking, killing and hacking the Dalish clansmen with veracious glee. Above roiled an angry sky of black and gray clouds and tumultuous eddies. A scream pierced through the cacophony of the darkspawn, echoing along the forest paths. Small tornadoes of dirt and leaves rose as massive wings upset the area, pushing the wind in a downwards draft. Clawed feet alighted to the blighted ground, and the dragon reared, blue flame erupting from its corrupted maw as its scream of triumph and challenge continued.

Gasping, Say'reil lurched up with a startled shout, wiping her hand down her neck, grimacing at the sweat there. As she struggled to calm her breathing, Darrian burst through the doorway, clad only in loose fitting pants. She glanced over at the other elf, taking note of the concern marring his handsome face. Raising an unsteady hand, she sought to ease his concern as he walked across the floor toward her.

"I'm fine," she whispered, still struggling to regain her breath. Darrian sat at the corner of her bed, brushing a large hand across her forehead. "Just some rather…disturbing dreams."

"I thought as much," the male elf responded, his own voice quiet. He smiled faintly at her questioning look. "The dreams are part of what being a Grey Warden is all about," he said with a distinct lack of humor. "I understand those who join during a Blight have dreams akin to those of the older wardens."

Frowning at his words, Say'reil asked, "So, I can expect more of these?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Darrian answered his hand dropping from her face. "Some of the older wardens learn how to…I don't know, control them? Block them out?" he shrugged. "I've only been a warden for about six or seven months, and I still can't get used to them." He squinted his blue eyes. "Didn't you get the dreams before the joining? You know, when you got sick?"

Say'reil frowned, then shook her head. "No, no dreams. Mostly ill feelings."

"Hmmm…" the senior warden hummed thoughtfully. "I guess that's something else to ask Duncan about." He grinned at the confused expression upon his companion's face. "You know the whole 'why you were still standing after the joining' question."

Say'reil huffed. "I was hardly standing," she clarified with a frown.

Darrian laughed, shaking the bed slightly. "Oh, yes you were," he tweaked her nose, hoping she wouldn't zap him for it. She merely looked annoyed.

"Are there any other secrets that I should now be made aware of?" she asked, a bit miffed. She didn't like secrets; her task was to gather and share information. The idea of withholding information, especially from someone directly involved, seemed almost cruel to the mage.

"Lots," Darrian replied, his strong voice quiet, thoughtful. He lifted a dark brow slightly, gazing at the woman. "Do you want me to list them out now?'

Frowning, her purple eyes shifted around the room. "How about just start with the list, and once it becomes too much for my nerves to handle, you can pick up with your repertoire later."

A chuckle burst from his lips, and he began. "Well, you've discovered the dreams," Say'reil nodded. "During a Blight, they can become worse. But, since you've the honor of joining during a Blight, I'd imagine your visions will be even more so."

"Was the dragon the Archdemon?" she asked, lifting her gaze to Darrian's.

The elf frowned. "You saw a dragon?" the mage nodded. "Wow. Okay, well, yes. As I understand it, the Archdemon is a dragon. If legends are correct, the archdemons are actually the elder gods, the seven dragons in the Tevinter pantheon." He noticed that Say'reil was following along, nodding knowingly. Glad he wasn't going to have to get into a history lesson, he continued. "Duncan had dreams of it, too, and tried telling everyone about them."

Say'reil scoffed here. "They probably thought he was simply having visions."

"Yes, or just out and out lying," the man's voice held a bitter tone. "No one really trusts us Wardens here in Fereldan." He shrugged. "I guess with good reason, but I don't know a heck of a lot about that. Alistair's our history buff."

"Alistair?"

"Another junior warden who joined at the same time I did." A mischievous thought came to his mind. "Oh, you're gonna love him." He ignored the questioning raise of her brow. "So, with the visions of the Archdemon, that proves that this is a Blight."

"I understand that," the mage replied, twisting to shift her pillow and ease back. Darrian watched as she moved, taking in the sight of the light fabric of her shift twisting slightly around her breasts, pulling a bit away from her shoulders to reveal healthy tanned skin.

Clearing his throat, feeling his cheeks heat slightly, he continued. "Well, there's also the fact that Wardens have a substantially shortened lifespan," he watched her dark eyes narrow slightly. "From the time of joining, and depending upon the age of the recruit, you can expect to live another thirty or so years."

"Unless you're killed by darkspawn," the Dalish woman put in without humor. Darrian nodded, watching as she sat there thoughtfully. "Not that it affects me," she continued, smiling up at the elven man. "I would have died within a few days had it not been for Duncan and you," her smile warmed. "But, for those of you who join not facing immediate death…"

"Ha!" Darrian laughed. "Trust me, Say," he ignored her frown at his shortening of her name. "I would have been dead had it not been for Duncan."

"Oh?" A chestnut brow rose in curiosity.

"I'll tell you about it on our way to Ostagar," the warrior promised with a grin. "Right now, you have questions to answer." He tapped a finger to his chin. "Once the natural life span of a Warden has been reached, the nightmares begin again. That's when a Warden knows that his Calling is upon him and goes to the deep roads."

"Calling?"

"That's just what they call it. The nightmares start up again, and the taint of the darkspawn blood we so thoughtfully ingested takes its final toll. The Warden then goes to the deep roads a'la Orzammar and kills as many darkspawn as he can until he, too, is killed."

Say'reil grimaced in distaste at that. "That sounds…horrid." Her eyes reflected her dawning horror. "So, you spend your entire life, fighting the darkspawn and protecting the people and lands, and your final reward is to die at the very hands of your foes?"

"That about sums it up," Darrian admitted.

The Dalish mage pushed passed the warrior, rising to her feet in anger. Shaking her head, she said, "No," she turned back to her companion. "That is not right." she stopped her agitated pacing, placing her hands on her hips. "After all of these centuries, the wardens have not come up with a better solution to the end of their days than setting a hero off to die at the hands of his foe?"

Darrian sat, astounded by the vehemence of her words. Then, it dawned on him what she was saying. He stood, placing his hands upon her shoulders, looking down at the slightly smaller elf. "I know it seems wrong…"

She pushed his hands from her, scowling up at him. "'Wrong' doesn't even convey any sense of how unnatural and cruel that is!" Her fists tightened at her sides. "Doesn't anyone in the order understand how intrinsically erroneous it is to give the enemy any victory?"

He didn't know what to say. The thought had never occurred to him, and he had never heard anyone else put it into words. But, what she said did make sense. With every Warden sent to their Calling, they gave the darkspawn some kind of a victory, regardless of how many of the fiends fell to blade, arrow or spell. He cocked his dark head to the Dalish woman, and smiled. "Maybe that's something else we can bring to Duncan's attention, eh?"

Her head jerked up, and her eyes narrowed, obviously trying to discern whether he was taunting her or serious. She saw the keen, honest expression upon his face, and allowed her scowl to soften. "I suppose I'm offering up a lot of questions myself," she said in soft, sheepish voice.

Chuckling, he stepped back to her, again placing his hands on her shoulders. "I think Duncan will enjoy the challenge," he offered, giving her shoulders a slight squeeze. "For now, however, I think we should both go back to bed and resume our discussion in the morning."

Glancing back at her bed, the woman nodded her head, offering a slight smile to the other elf. With a final 'good night', Darrian left her room, tucking himself back into his own bed. His thoughts now turned fully upon the newest member of the Wardens, the elf turned onto his side and fell asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks to everyone for the alerts, favorites and, especially, the reviews (Nithu, Aaron W). Always appreciated. I'm glad that Alim was so well received._

_This chapter is a bit out of order; it starts before dinner._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. Despite my most fervent desires, nothing of the DA universe can be claimed as mine, even those parts that I…well…twisted around to suit my own needs and desires. _

_Beyond the Sylvan Paths_

_Chapter 7_

_Before Dinner with the Grey Wardens, the First Enchanter & Knight-Commander:_

Alim stood, staring at his closest and oldest friend as though Jowan had grown a second head. The elf's blue eyes shifted to the rather plain, flat featured girl with mousy brown hair standing beside said friend. _An initiate_? The elf questioned to himself, his eyes skimming over her form, shamefully hidden within those horrid Chantry issued robes. _Really_?

Those are the words he wanted to say, oh so very badly. However, when said oldest and closest friend introduced him to the girl - _Lily _- Alim turned to said girl and responded with the quip, "You have my condolences."

The girl giggled prettily enough, her brown eyes sparkling at the playfulness of the elf. Jowan merely groaned. "Come on, Alim!" he hissed, casting an unappreciative glance at his lady love.

The young elf merely grinned at his friend's discomfort. "Alright, Jowan," he said, giving the girl a playful wink. She giggled a bit more at that, and he decided that it was her voice and laughter that drew Jowan to her. "I'm almost positive you didn't drag me away from the Grey Wardens," he stepped closer and grasped Jowan's upper arms, giving him a shake, "_Grey Wardens_, Jowan!" he frowned as he stepped back. "To simply introduce me to your lovely lady love." He winked at her again, eliciting yet another delightful giggle. He turned back to his friend, who was obviously fuming at the elf's flirting with Lily. "What are you up to?" He looked around at their surroundings, the many rows of pews, just waiting and expecting a templar - more than likely Cullen - to waltz in. "And why _here _of all places?"

Lily spoke, her voice a soft whisper. "It's the only place to speak without risking suspicions," she replied, answering the question for Jowan with grace. "And, we have a perfect view of the only door to the Chapel."

"It truly is a matter of great importance!" Jowan whined, quickly hushing his own worried tones with a baleful look at his friend.

Letting out a breath of exasperation, Alim continued on. "Still, I had the chance to speak with Wardens - two of the _most _beautiful elves I have ever seen, by the way!" Jowan rolled his eyes at that. "So, start talking or I'm walking."

The couple looked at each with hesitation, and finally Lily gave Jowan a firm nudge with her elbow. Taking a deep breath, the apprentice started talking.

"We have found out why I haven't been called to my Harrowing yet," he started, his dark brown eyes full of fear. "They-They're going to make me Tranquil!"

Alim stood, staring at his friend dumbfounded. _Jowan, Tranquil_? That made no sense. Certainly, his friend needed more time than some to fully comprehend, understand and dissect a spell, but once he had a spell learnt, he had it down firm.

"But, Jowan," Alim replied, his voice soft and concerned, "They only make those who are inept at spell casting Tranquil or are afraid of taking their Harrowing. You," he pointed a delicate, long finger into his friend's narrow chest. "may take a little longer to catch on, but once you have a spell locked up into that lock box of a mind, its there for good. And I've never heard you say once of any concern regarding the Harrowing itself."

Jowan smiled at his friend's compliment. He knew that he was no where near as talented as Alim with spells - any spells - however, he knew his own strengths and weaknesses. He knew that he drove the tutors to distraction with his constant need to study and re-study a spell before it was locked firmly in his mind. The only consolation for his teachers was the knowledge that once he learned the lessons, he would always remember them and could cast them easily once learned.

However, "It's not my spell casting abilities that put me at risk here," he frowned. "There's a rumor going around about me…" He trailed off, fidgeting with his robes.

Alim's eyes narrowed and he watched as his friend fidgeted and fell silent. Realization dawned over the elven mage, and he felt fear for his friend - his only true friend - grip his heart. He had heard rumors as well….

"Jowan," his voice was quiet, all playfulness gone. "Those rumors…"

And his friend was nodding that dark head of his, his eyes sorrowful, asking for understanding. "Those rumors of blood magic are about me." he admitted, casting his eyes downward.

Lily shifted uncomfortably beside her lover, placing a soft hand upon his arm.

"Are they true?" Alim heard himself asking, hating himself for asking, but needed to ask. Relief swept over him as Jowan emphatically shook his head in the negative.

"No," he murmured, lifting his eyes to meet the elf's intense gaze. "No," he replied more firmly. "Those rumors started because I was…meeting with Lily. My erratic behavior started the rumors - what else could it be? Blood magic is far easier to believe than…" he glanced nervously at the girl at his side.

A long fingered hand rubbed his forehead as the elf turned away, pacing, a thoughtful look upon his fine features. Frowning, he turned back. "We have to tell someone, Jowan," he stopped his pacing, stepping to his friend. "Tell them that it's a mistake and what really is happening…"

"No!" Jowan nearly shouted, than contained himself. "If I do that, they will punish Lily! She's an initiate, Alim! She's not supposed to have…relations…with men."

Sputtering, the mage turned away. He saw the brief flash of hurt cross Lily's face, and he realized that the girl truly cared for Jowan. "I told Jowan I would be willing to accept the punishment," she whispered, trying to get Jowan to see reason, hoping Alim would support her. "My punishment would be far less…severe than Jowan's."

_Oh, he really liked this girl! Too bad Jowan is only now introducing them…_

_Wait_…"How do you know that they're going to make you Tranquil?" he turned to Jowan, needed to ask the question.

"I saw the orders sitting upon Gregoir's desk," Lily offered, her eyes shifting to Jowan. "They had been signed by the First Enchanter."

Alim's shoulders slumped, his posture nearly matching Jowan's defeated one. He _knew _Jowan didn't dabble in blood magic. He glanced at his friend's dejected face. At least, he hoped that was the case.

"So, what do you need me to do then, if not speak with Irving?" Alim asked, concern lacing his voice. He almost winced at the hopeful look that leaped into Jowan's dark eyes.

"We need to recover my phylactery from the repository," Jowan muttered, those hope filled eyes still upon the elf's face. "Then I can destroy it, and Lily and I can escape without fear of their using it to track me down."

Between the two, Jowan and Lily explained that they would need Alim's help. As a newly Harrowed mage, he would be able to help get them past the Victim's Door in the basement. They would also need a rod of fire, an item only requisitioned out to mages, to get past yet another lock. As an apprentice, Jowan would not be able to get passed either door. Alim, on the other hand…

Alim stood, staring at his friend. _Steal his phylactery_? The elf shook his head in wonderment. Lily must have been the one to come up with this plan. His friend was smart - almost a genius, really. But lacked common sense and the will for follow through. He closed his blue eyes, feeling a headache growing behind his eyes.

"Look," he raised a hand to the pair, "I'm not saying 'no' nor am I saying 'yes'. But I need to think about this." He lifted his head. "I'm expected at evening meal with the First Enchanter and the Wardens," he allowed himself a grin at Jowan's look of amazement. "So, we cannot do anything this day." He gave Jowan a pointed look. "They are not going to be doing anything as…distasteful as a Tranquility Rite while the Grey Wardens are here." _I hope_, he added silently. "And I am not missing this opportunity to speak with Grey Wardens." His look sharpened. "I'll give you my answer first thing in the morning, Jowan." With a pat on his friend's arm, he added, "I promise."

With a nod, Jowan accepted his friend's word. He had turned to Lily to give her a quick hug when Alim turned to leave the pair alone.

Just what was he going to do?

DA:O

After leaving Jowan and Lily back at the Chapel, Alim wandered around the corridors, trying to gather his thoughts. As he passed the senior mage quarters, he was pulled in by an enthusiastic mage, who proclaimed that all of Alim's belongings were being brought up from the apprentice level and that this semi-private room would be his. The elf gazed around the room, partitioned off into three separate sleeping areas, complete with bed, armoire, and sitting area. There were no doors on any of the areas, but it still afforded him more privacy than he had ever had in his life.

With a sigh, he stepped out of the quarters, and began wandering around the corridors again. Ser Cullen was stationed outside of the Grey Warden's rooms, and the elf paused briefly to speak with the personable templar. He held back a smile as the templar spoke about the pretty Grey Warden, thinking that Warden Say'reil's presence was definitely going to be remembered for some time. With a friendly wave, the elf turned from the young man, turned down the corridor, and walked right to the door to the First Enchanter's office.

And stood staring at it for several minutes, wondering why his feet had taken him here. Jowan and Lily had told him that the order had already been signed. Could it be rescinded? Would it be merely on the word - _the pleas _- of a newly harrowed mage? What punishment would that delightful girl have to endure for her breach of vows?

He shook his shining blond head, a scowl - a most unusual expression upon his usually smiling or smirking face - planted itself firmly upon his lips. Lily had protested that her punishment would be less severe than Jowan's. Why, then, was his friend so adamant about sparing her? _Love_? Alim scoffed at that notion. What was love to a mage? Still, he could not help that slight pang that rang in his chest at the thought of Jowan escaping, with the woman he loved, to live as something other than a mage, trapped in this gilded cage.

He gazed at the door for several more moments. Irving was his mentor, the one who he could always go to whenever he had an issue that talking through with Jowan just could not resolve. Now, he had an important matter that he desperately needed to speak with the elder man about, and he feared doing so. He had no intention of betraying his friend or the trust he and Lily had placed in him. But, he needed perspective…perhaps being able to tell himself for certain that Irving could not or would not be able to help in this matter would help in his own decision making. And, so, taking a deep breath, the young elven mage lightly rapped upon the stout wood of the door. At Irving's calm response to enter, Alim pushed open the door and quietly stepped in.

The First Enchanter turned, greeting his former apprentice with a calm smile. "Now, what brings you here, my boy?" the elder mage asked as he stepped across the floor. "Did you see our guests safely back to their rooms?"

A slight grin crossed the elven mage's face as he replied. "I did First Enchanter, and thank you for the opportunity to meet them." He flushed slightly. "And also for the invitation for evening meal. That was rather unexpected."

A soft chuckle barked out. "Ah, yes, lad. The Grey Wardens are to be respected. I thought you would appreciate meeting and having an opportunity to converse with them. After all, despite both of them being elven, they come from vastly different backgrounds. That, in and of itself, should prove interesting to such a sharp mind as yours."

Flashing the First Enchanter a brilliant smile, the elf thanked him for his thoughtfulness. "I'm looking forward to being able to spend more time with them," he admitted, "They both seem to be very interesting even if they weren't Wardens."

Irving chuckled his agreement, and then asked if the lad needed anything further from him. Nodding slightly, feeling an unaccustomed wave of anxiety flush through him, he decided to jump in with both feet. "I wanted to ask you about Jowan…" he began.

"Oh?" A gray brow rose in question, the elder mage's eyes fixed firmly upon the young elf's face. "What about Jowan?"

Irving was perhaps the only senior mage in the tower that could make Alim fidget. Actually, the only person in the whole tower - well, other than Wynne, but that was a whole different story - to make the normally cocksure young mage less certain of himself. He was starting to feel like a little child again, caught pulling a naughty prank on the female apprentices, having to declare his innocence beneath that penetrating stare. He almost always failed, and found himself failing now.

"Yes, well, I was just wondering when he'll be taking his own Harrowing," the elf's soft blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "I mean, he has a good grasp of the entropic spells, and primals are coming along splendidly…"

"So, you have taken over tutoring your friend, have you?" Irving asked, slight irritated humor reflected in his voice. "I had no idea that barely a mage you have started mentoring as well."

Embarrassed heat flushed his face, and Alim found himself stuttering slightly. "Ahm…well…First Enchanter. It's not that. It's just, Jowan and I are friends, and so we talk…"

"And during one such 'talk' came up the topic of Jowan's Harrowing, now, did it?" Irving shook his head. "When Jowan is ready for his Harrowing, then Jowan shall take his Harrowing." He stopped pacing, turning his eyes toward the young mage, his face not unkind. "I know Jowan is your closest friend, Alim, but you must trust that those of us who have been around far longer than yourself know what is best."

"Turning him Tranquil is for the best?" burst from Alim's mouth before he had time to fully comprehend the thought. He winced as Irving crossed his arm to his chest, that damnable brow raised again, the First Enchanter all knowing mask fully in place. _Damn_!

"How do you know this, young Alim?"

_Damn, damn, damn_! "Jowan is concerned…"

"Oh?" There was the damned brow twitch again. "I had thought perhaps that initiate he dallies with may have told him." He smirked at the confused expression that settled upon Alim's features. "You didn't truly think that I knew nothing of his little entanglement with the girl, now, did you?" He 'tutted', shaking his head in disappointment. "I am disappointed with you, Alim."

Thunderstruck, Alim merely shook his head. "You…you know?" Then he breathed out a breath of relief. "Well, then, you know that the rumors of his practicing blood magic are just that - rumors. He's been meeting secretly with Lily…"

"No, Alim," the First Enchanter raised a gnarled hand, indicating the younger mage to silence. "I do not know any such thing." He looked at the elf sadly. With a sigh, he indicated he sit down at the nearby desk. Once Alim settled into the chair, the First Enchanter sat down in his at the other side of the desk. "Gregoir has come to me with proof that young Jowan has been practicing forbidden magic."

"That's not true, First Enchanter," Alim said firmly. "I know Jowan. He hates blood magic almost as much as I do," the elf frowned, leaning forward in earnest. "And you know how much I hate blood magic." He could almost feel the scars on his chest itch as he spoke of the vile practice.

Irving sat back in his chair, studying the young elf before him with a thoughtful expression upon his craggy face. His voice rough with understanding, Irving responded. "I know, Alim." Sighing, Irving rose from his chair. "I shall think on what you have said here, child." Alim rose as well, nodding in relief, feeling that the First Enchanter would take more time to think about this tranquility option for Jowan.

Irving placed a placating hand upon the elf's narrow shoulder. Guiding him toward the door, he said, "We shall speak more on this later. Remember to meet us for evening meal, Alim." He smiled as he opened the door. "I believe the Wardens would be more than happy with your company."

"To offset the sternness of Gregoir and elderly-ness of you?" the elf asked playfully, an ear to ear grin upon his face.

Irving chuckled at the youth's cheekiness as he guided him through the door.

As soon as the door closed behind him, however, the grin vanished from the elf's face. He hoped that the First Enchanter would rethink their position regarding Jowan. He just wasn't certain that the elder mage could actually do anything about it.

DA:O

Dinner was actually quite pleasant, despite the fact that Gregoir had joined them and, as always, the persistent presence of the templars could always put a chill in the air. Regardless, Alim enjoyed the food, the company, and the conversation. He especially loved how Say'reil would not back down to Gregoir's persistence in upholding Chantry dogma. He sat and watched as the Dalish mage, with considerable grace, met each of the knight-commander's arguments with wisdom and patience, although he could tell that there were times when she simply wanted to blast or stab him. In the end, they both declared a truce and agreed to disagree.

The Circle elf's eyes would stray from the beautiful Dalish's face over to the rugged features of the senior warden. For an elf, his features were surprisingly strong, but still more delicate and angular than any human's could ever be. His skin was deeply tanned, and Alim could tell that it was from exposure to the sun rather than hereditary. Piercing blue eyes watched everything with humor and a slight bit of disdain, although Alim could not tell what that disdain was directed at. Even the angry red scar that bisected his eye did not take away from the rugged beauty of the man. Between the two elven wardens, Alim was certain his heart would simply burst with the attraction he felt for them both.

He noticed Say'reil's dark purple eyes settle upon his face, and he gave her a wide grin and sly wink. He was pleased to see a faint hint of a blush creep across her high cheek bones and over to the tips of her delicate ears. It was Say'reil's ears that most fascinated the young mage the most of her lovely features. All of the elves he had ever seen had shorter ears with slightly rounded tips. The belief was the longer elves, by generations, were with humans, the less elven they were and more human like. The elf had never quite understood or even truly believed the belief he deemed a myth. However, looking at the Dalish's ears, he could almost believe the myth reality. Her ears were long and slender, ending in sharp, delicate points. Her features were sharper and more delicate than any other elf he had ever seen. Granted, the only elves he had contact with were those at the tower, but there were many therein, all from Alienages. His grin widened as he thought of how much he would like to run his fingers along her ears.

He almost choked when he noticed Darrian's scowl directed at him. That scowl told the perceptive mage two things: One, that the female elf had obviously been spoken for; and two, that Darrian himself did not play both sides of the field. _Too bad_. Since Anders had been placed in solitary, Kayla hadn't been much fun, and the elf could not find any others interested in the sorts of games the trio had played.

With a sigh, he decided not to taunt or otherwise antagonize the more senior of the wardens. Darrian was big for an elf; he may well be able to snap the much smaller elf in two.

_Ah, well that's a shame_, the young mage thought to himself as he thought what else the older elf could do with those hands. He resumed eating and listening to the conversations around him, putting in his own word or two on subjects he either thought greatly upon or too little of.

Dinner ended far too early for his liking. However, he had the pleasure of finally being able to sleep in a space designated solely for him, and not surrounded by the dozens of apprentices forced to sleep barrack style. He gazed around his chambers for a moment, taking in the bed that was twice the size of that he slept in in said 'barracks', to the large armoire set against one wall. The table and chair set against the nearest wall would prove to be his favorite. His own seating. _Yes_, he thought as he nodded and started removing his clothing, it was going to be good being a mage instead of a mere apprentice.

DA:O

The mage lights in the chamber containing Alim's sleeping area brightened as the day dawned bright outside. Of course, the mages did not know whether the sun shone brightly or was hidden by clouds, or whether it rained or snowed. Never allowed outside the confines of the Tower, they were also not allowed windows. The elven mage blinked as the lights brightened, and, with a sigh, rose to wash and dress for the day.

He was far from surprised to find Jowan packing nervously just outside the chamber's door.

"Jowan," Alim greeted as he stepped closer to his closest of friends. Concern and question lay within the darkness of Jowan's eyes, and Alim almost flinched at the hopefulness therein, too.

"Have you thought about it?" Jowan asked, his voice breaking, near panic rising to the surface.

The elf paused, staring at his friend for a moment. He had made his decision last night almost as soon as he had left Irving's office. "I have," he replied, smiling up at his friend. "Let's go find Lily and see if we can pull off this mad plan of yours."

Nearly bouncing with joy, Jowan tugged at Alim's arm and led him back to the Chapel, where Lily awaited them both.

DA:O

Alim stood, scowling at the corpse of the spider. How could something as simple as fetching a fire rod turn into running errands and exterminating giant man-sized spiders? In a moment of pique, he kicked the huge body, and then turned away to report that his extermination duties had been completed.

Now, with signed acquisition form in hand, he went back to Owain. The mage admitted it, he always felt uncomfortable around Owain and the other Tranquil. He remembered Owain from before he was made Tranquil. Many years older than the young elf, the human had been a promising mage who took the younger mages under his wing. He was a protector, confident, and mentor to many of the children. He had also assumed the role of protector for young Alim, who, as a child, had been much smaller and more delicate than any of the other children, even the other elves. As such, his smaller stature made him an ideal target for bullies. Owain had been one of the apprentices who would see to hazing any of the bullies, encouraging them to not pick on the younger and smaller mages. When Owain's time for Harrowing had come, he had surprised everyone - if rumors were correct, Irving and Gregoir as well - by requesting the Rite of Tranquility. When an angry Alim had demanded to know why he would do something as horrendous as accept that branding, Owain calmly and quietly responded, "I was afraid to take my Harrowing." That was it. All the explanation the once promising mage had offered up.

And, now Alim stood before his former friend, handing the parchment over and waited while the tranquil sought out the requested magical item from the stockroom's stores. Alim thanked him politely, and quickly left the area. It still pained him to interact with the man even after all these years.

However, he had the required item and the sooner they implemented Jowan and Lily's plan, the sooner the pair could leave the Tower and begin their life together.

Alim frowned slightly, his steps faltering slightly. He wished he could escape the confines of the Tower himself. However, Irving had told him that his phylactery had already been sent along to the warehouse at the Denerim Chantry. If he tried to escape while that still existed, all the Templars had to do was acquire a drop of his blood from the phylactery and use that to track him. He snorted slightly as he made his way to the Chapel. Hypocrites, all of them! They would well use blood magic when it suited their purposes, but evil unto those who use it for themselves! His grip on the rod tightened as he passed by the chambers the Grey Wardens had been assigned, and he paused, staring at the door, ignoring Cullen's presence. He had heard that the pair would be staying another day while they did some research in the Tower's library. Perhaps he could convince them to recruit him into the Wardens? Sure, it would be a life of service, but one of his choosing, outside of the damnable, cursed walls. He glanced over at Cullen, who was watching him with unrestrained curiosity.

"The Wardens," Alim started, stepping closer to the Templar, "are they still in their rooms?"

Cullen smiled. He was by far the friendliest and most easygoing of the Templars. "They left for breakfast a short time ago," he advised. "I believe they'll be spending most of the day in the library."

"Why are you still here then instead of the library?"

"This is my post," The templar replied, obviously confused by the question.

"Oh," Alim replied. "Sorry. I thought you were assigned to the Wardens. Especially where one is a mage."

Understanding lit the young man's amber eyes. "Yes, well. Honestly, Warden Say'reil made a comment about not wanting to be followed around by a," he actually grinned at this, "walking tin can. Knight-Commander Gregoir decided then that I did not need to follow her, ah, them around." The young man tilted his head somewhat and his voice took on a decidedly conspiratal tone. "Wish I could have seen the Knight-Commander's face when she made that demand."

Chuckling, Alim bid the templar good day, and resumed his trek to the Chapel.

DA:O

_Well, this could have ended better_, Alim thought as he, Jowan and Lily stood at the entrance to the basement, staring back at an indignant Gregoir, disappointed Irving and several Templars. He could feel Jowan shaking in anger, of all things, beside him, and the elf backed slightly and glanced back to Lily, frowning at how pale and shaken she looked. He turned back to the group facing them.

"First Enchanter…" he began, but the elder mage cut him off with a sad shake of his gray and white head.

"I am very disappointed in you, Alim," the First Enchanter said, sorrow heavy in his gravely voice. Alim's heart sank at those words. "You should have told me about this mad plan of Jowan's…"

Heat rose in his chest, and he found himself saying to his mentor, "So you could just make him Tranquil? For what? Loving someone?" The elf felt his face flush with anger and he took a step forward. "We mages give up everything for something we have no control over. And you expected that I'd let you take even more? From someone I care about?" Jowan shifted uneasily beside him, shuffling his feet.

"This mage has been accused of using blood magic!" Gregoir stepped forward, fury upon his face.

"And by accusation alone guilt is proven?" All heads turned to the newest arrival to the room. Say'reil had entered the room, Cullen hovering at her back. Her purple eyes flashed with her own anger, and she placed her hands upon her hips as she stood before the Knight-Commander.

"Careful here, Warden," Gregoir responded with his own anger. "You have no right to interfere in this matter." He turned back to the young mages and initiate. "This apprentice is guilty of practicing blood magic. The sentence is tranquility." He turned to Lily. "And you, Lily, for helping a blood mage will be sent off to Aeonar…"

Lily's pale face paled further, almost the color of parchment as she shrank back against the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible. "No," she whispered fearfully. "Not the mage's prison."

Alim had moved toward the young woman, uncertain as to what he would do. He stopped as the smell of magic and _iron _rose in the air. Surprised, he turned toward Jowan, who had taken a dagger from somewhere under his robes. "I won't let you take her!" the apprentice shouted, jabbing the blade into his hand. Alim stumbled back, memories of copper and iron flooding his senses. He felt Lily's hand upon his arm, and watched, dumbfounded, as Jowan cast his spell - using blood magic - to toss the templars and mages alike as though they were rag dolls. Say'reil shouted something in her language, but stumbled to the floor, bracing herself upon her hands. Irving, Gregoir and the templars all fell to the ground.

"Jowan," Alim and Lily whispered in unison, disbelief upon their faces. The young apprentice hung his head as he turned to the two most important people in his life.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, stepping toward the pair. Alim could only stare at his friend, a man he had known since he had been brought to the tower fourteen years ago, a man who knew how dangerous blood magic was.

Lily found her voice first, cursing him. With a cry, Jowan rushed passed the fallen, and out the doors without hindrance. Alim wondered only briefly where the _blood mage _thought he was going, with the tower surrounded by water.

Say'reil was stirring, rising unsteadily to her feet, cursing slightly as she glanced at the doors. Irving moaned at her feet, and she bent down, placing a hand upon his shoulder, obviously checking the old man for injuries. Alim glanced at Lily, offering her his hand. She looked at it, somewhat befuddled, but then with a nod took it with her own chilly fingers. Alim tugged her along, putting a comforting arm around her narrow shoulders. She gave him a small smile of gratitude, and the pair stepped from the stairway.

Say'reil had obviously sent some healing into the old mage, and Irving smiled at her with appreciation. Gregoir had risen to his feet, and was now lending a hand down to his friend. The other templars, Cullen included, had regained their feet, and now stood at attention, awaiting orders.

Gregoir's eyes narrowed first at the templars who had accompanied him and Irving. With a shout and a snarl, he sent them out the doors to go after Jowan. He then turned a heated glare toward the young mage holding the initiate.

"I am disappointed with you, Lily," the girl cringed at his words. "Helping a blood mage of all things."

"She didn't know, Gregoir," Alim defended the girl he held, giving her a slight squeeze. "Neither of us did."

Sharp gray eyes narrowed, "Be that as it may," he said, trying hard to keep his voice even. "A blood mage has been found within the circle." He glanced back at the doors, frowning deeply as his templars returned, shaking their heads. "Correction, a blood mage has managed to _escape _the circle," he turned his head back to the pair.

Lily bowed her head, stepping away from the comfort of Alim's embrace. The elf frowned, but dropped his arm to his side. "I will accept whatever punishment you see fit, Gregoir," she whispered timidly, her whole body shaking with fear.

Alim noticed Gregoir's eyes lighten a bit. "Take her back to her chambers," he instructed the templars. "I'll need some time to consider your punishment, Lily."

Irving scowled at that, and made to speak when Gregoir turned his attention back to Alim. "You," he snarled. "newly a mage and already flaunting the Circle's rules."

Alim frowned, "I was trying to help a friend…"

"A blood mage!" Gregoir took a step closer, towering over the smaller man. "You allowed a blood mage to escape!"

"Will a 'sorry' work?" the young elf could not keep the sarcasm from his voice. "Look, Gregoir, I hate blood magic as much as you do. If I had known…"

"That doesn't matter!" The knight-commander roared. "The Chantry's laws are not to be ignored!"

"Yeah, because we're all just cattle, right?" Alim snarled right back, stepping forward. "Not truly human or elven, just tools to be used whenever the Chantry decides to make use of us!"

Gregoir studied the young mage before him. Then, he surprised them all, including himself, by quietly saying, "That is exactly correct, young mage. I am glad to see that you can learn something."

There was a deadly silence in the room. Then Say'reil stepped forward, her dark eyes flashing with anger. "So what do you plan to do with the young mage?" she asked in very clipped tones. Alim didn't know her very well but could already tell that the way she spoke was a warning sign. One that Gregoir obviously either didn't recognize or choose to ignore.

"As a Harrowed mage," the Knight-Commander responded, "The Rite of Tranquility can not be enforced." His eyes narrowed. "He will be sent to Aeonar."

There was a resounding gasp from the mages at that proclamation. The blood drained from Alim's face.

"No, he will not," Say'reil said calmly, stepping to Alim's side. She did not know what this Aeonar was, but from the reactions of those around them, she could hazard a guess it was unpleasant. "I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription," she said just as calmly, her eyes bearing into Alim's with such intensity that the elven male could not pull his eyes away.

As Gregoir started to sputter that she had no right, Cullen turned and raced from the chamber.

As the pair argued, Alim felt a firm hand upon his arm. Numb, he glanced down to see that Say'reil had taken hold of his arm, holding it tightly. Had the situation been less dire, he would have grinned at the contact. Now, his mind was slightly muddled by the events of the day. Jowan was a blood mage! That was first and foremost in his thoughts. He had betrayed him and Lily, the girl he proclaimed to love. Were they just a means to an end - his escape? Had he ever been his friend? The elf's head bowed slightly. He could not bring himself to fully believing that the friendship he and Jowan shared had been anything less than true. However, Jowan obviously was not going to let friendship stand in the way of his freedom. And Lily…poor girl. She had given him her heart, broke her vows for him, and would now pay for that trust and love. He shook his head, unable to fully focus on his thoughts, let alone the argument around him.

His head came up, however, when a new male voice entered the argument.

"The Grey Wardens hold the right to conscript anyone into their ranks," Darrian was saying as he strode into the room, long purposeful steps taking him to Say'reil's side. The other male gave the female a quick, approving glance, and then turned back to the fuming templar. "Even the Chantry cannot go against conscription." The tanned elf allowed a small, humorless smile to cross his lips. "I could even conscript you, Knight-Commander, and the Grand Cleric could not do a thing about it."

Face red, Gregoir spat, "Very well! But I want you _Wardens _and this one out of the tower within the hour!" With those words, he turned on his heel and stomped away.

Darrian turned to Say'reil, grinning at her. "I can't leave you alone for a moment, can I?" he teased.

With feigned exasperation, she shot back, "Me?" a delicate hand rose and tapped Alim's shoulder. "This one is the one causing all of the trouble. I just pulled him out of the fire."

The senior warden turned back to Irving to make arrangements for Alim's belongings and other supplies. The young mage turned to Say'reil.

"What now?" he asked, looking up at her.

She shrugged. "We take you to Ostagar, and there you will meet the Warden Commander and the rest of the Wardens." Her smile was warm and friendly. "Same for me. I've only met Duncan and Darrian."

"You're not going to perform the ceremony now, here?" he asked, confused.

"No," Darrian turned back to them, his business with Irving completed. "We don't have the necessary materials to do such a thing." The warden grinned. "Duncan's going to be impressed! Now we have not one but two mages."

Say'reil smiled with condescension. "Please make sure he knows that I recruited Alim."

Darrian merely smirked at her, placing an arm across her shoulders. "I'm the senior warden. I think I should take the credit." he winked at her, but she only scowled, playfully swatting his arm from her.

Darrian then turned from the pair to address the templar who still remained. "Ser Cullen," the young templar nodded at the warden and then moved to stand before him. "I want to thank you for fetching me. Who knows what trouble my fellow warden would have caused?"

Cullen flushed slightly at the smile Say'reil gave him as she thanked him as well before tuning a scowl upon her fellow Warden. Then, with word to Cullen to remain with Alim, the pair went back to their chambers to gather their things. They were not going to be able to make use of the Circle's Library after all.


	8. Chapter 8

_Thanks to everyone for the alerts, favorites and, especially, the reviews: Aaron W (gee, guy, wish you were signed in. I'd love to respond), Nithu_

_Sorry it's taken so long to update. The Halla Reborn kinda took over all of my creativeness._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. Despite my most fervent desires, nothing of the DA universe can be claimed as mine, except those parts that I…well…twisted around to suit my own needs and desires. _

_Beyond the Sylvan Paths_

_Chapter 8_

Say'reil glanced up from the rabbits she was dressing as the two elven men returned from their foray into the surrounding woods. The pair seemed at ease in each other's company, and the Dalish mage was pleased to be traveling with elves once again. Despite the fact that one had been raised without any sense of elven identity did not water down the Dalish's like for the younger mage.

Alim, having spent almost his entire life locked away in the cold confines of the Circle Tower, had displayed an almost childlike wonder at the world he now found himself in. The female elf did not even attempt to suppress the smile that played across her lips as the younger mage settled down beside her, watching with keen interest - as well as a bit of disgust - as she skinned and gutted the rabbits that would be this evening's dinner. The poor young man had no idea that meat actually came from living creatures!

A shadow flickered across the firelight, and Say'reil looked up to watch Darrian make his way to the log across from the fire. She felt the heat of a blush cross her face as he caught her staring at him. _Damn_, she thought as she quickly returned her attention to the food. She could not believe that she kept staring at the man, as though she had never seen a handsome elf before.

Her hands stilled slightly as her mind, as it would inevitably do, went to the handsome man she had lost. She gave a quick, violent shake of her head, ignoring the looks from both males as she scraped the meat into the pot, where various wild vegetables and herbs were already starting to boil. Tamlen was gone, lost to an ancient artifact. She would mourn him as was proper, but with her new duties as a Grey Warden before her, she had to release any guilt and despair she felt. She knew the rigors of duty; she would not forsake hers even if they were not chosen by her.

The conversation had turned to various topics, including a query as to how they believed Duncan was currently fairing on his journey to Highever. Say'reil, whose clan had traveled that far north many times, commented that, even if he were to travel during all light and into the dark, he would still be many days before arriving at the northern most Teyrnir. That meant Alim's joining may well wait for a month or more, unless Darrian could locate the necessary ingredients at Ostagar, find a mage able to prepare the joining (ahem! Say'reil gave the warrior a slight glare, to which he answered with a knowing smirk).

After the evening's meal, the Dalish elf retired early, slipping into her tent and leaving the two males alone.

DA:O

A week later and the trio of elves found themselves standing before the ruins of the once great Tevinter fortress at Ostagar. Say'reil's eyes widened as she took in the delicate and ruined arches beckoning to the interior of the structure. Darrian and Alim watched as the Dalish lore keeper stepped to the crumbling walls, tracing her delicate fingers over the runes, faded from time and the elements. The men exchanged grins as the woman lifted her face, awe etched so plainly upon her lovely features. Shaking his head, Darrian moved to her side, motioning with his head for her to follow him. There was more for both her and Alim to see.

The alienage elf was slightly surprised to find Cailan walking along with Claudio, Duncan's second. The king, dressed in his trademark golden armor, was laughing at something the Antivan had said. Darrian stood and waited for the pair to stop before the elves.

Cailan greeted the elven warden with his usual cordial friendliness. Darrian could not help but like the young king, for all of his bravado and naiveté. He remembered when he had first met the young king, so full of a desire to rid his kingdom of the darkspawn in one fell swoop, unrealistically recognizing that it would take more than one telling battle to rid them from the land. He had watched as he stood by Duncan's side, watching and listening to the king tell the warden commander of their 'decisive' victories. He had then turned to the dark elven man standing quietly by the human's side.

"Where are you from, my good man?" the king had asked jovially.

But at that time, Darrian would have none of it. He had just had to kill a noble who had viciously kidnapped, raped and killed elves from his home - his family! - And he was not in the mood, even weeks later, to be in any form friendly with any of the nobles, be he king or not.

"Obviously, one of your Alienages," the elf had spat, ignoring the confused look that crossed Cailan's handsome and open face.

The king had recovered quickly, however, and stepped closer to the elf. "Tell me," he said in a low voice, "how is it there? My guards won't let me anywhere near the alienage in Denerim."

Darrian's eyes had widened with disbelief. Tell him? Okay…"Well, let's see," the elf replied, anger tingeing his voice. He ignored the warning look Duncan shot him as he continued. "I killed the arl's son for kidnapping my bride, raping my cousin and killing one of the bridesmaids from my wedding party," his eyes sought out Cailan's stunned blues as he continued. "What else is there to say?"

"Your majesty!" Duncan exclaimed, stepping closer to Darrian, gripping the younger man's arm with a strong hand. "I would not have put it in such a terse manner…"

But Cailan's eyes remained fixed upon the belligerent elf's face, and then, slowly, he nodded his golden head. "I had no idea," he whispered to the elf, sincerity so clear in his voice that Darrian had felt a brief, momentary pang of guilt for so openly attacking the king with harsh words. "I promise," Cailan's voice grew in strength and determination and Darrian allowed himself just a moment to believe in it. "Things will improve in the alienage."

Now, standing before the young king, Darrian believed Cailan believed his words, but the elf was not putting any true faith in any words until the changes did come.

"So," Cailan was saying, his eyes going from Alim and resting upon Say'reil's face. "I see you have two new recruits."

Darrian moved slightly closer to the Dalish mage, keeping in mind Cailan's reputation and attraction for elven women. "Actually, just one. Say'reil," he placed a friendly hand upon her shoulder, "has already joined our ranks." He noticed Claudio's eyebrows shoot upwards toward his hairline, but the Antivan remained quiet. "Alim," the elven warden waved a hand toward the elven mage, "Will be undergoing the joining shortly."

"Marvelous," Cailan exclaimed, stepping nearer Say'reil, "an honor it is, Warden Say'reil, to make your acquaintance. And Alim," the human king turned to greet the smaller elf. "I am certain that the wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks."

The circle mage blinked once, and then nodded, bowing deeply to the king. "I certainly hope so, your majesty."

Turning to give Say'reil a final smile, Cailan took his leave of the trio of elves. Claudio cast an approving eye to the Dalish woman and a nod to Alim. As he passed Darrian, he clapped a hand to the elf's shoulders, obviously showing his approval of the two new wardens.

"Okay," Darrian said, clapping his hands together and turning to his fellow elves. "Claudio, there, is Duncan's second. He is obviously otherwise occupied, so let's say we find the pair of you tents, and introduce you around." He grinned at the mages. "I know a warden that you are going to just love."

"Tall, dark and handsome, I hope," Alim quipped, grinning at the blush that rose on Say'reil's cheeks. Darrian just grinned at the younger elf as he led the pair deeper into camp.

DA:O

Anger. Hatred. Rage.

These burned through him as he viscously tore the blade through the archer's body, turning to cleave the head from another.

How dare he attack them?

Breathing hard, he paused, glancing back to where Eleanor Cousland, his mother, stood, bow in hand, staring at the bodies that lay at their feet. Her eyes, a pale emerald, sought out his own dark emerald eyes, the questions clear as she stepped to his side.

Why were they being attacked?

Why would he, of all people, be the one having ordered the assault?

Where was Bryce?

Where was he?

Adrian panted, pulling his mother into a tight hug before leading her from their personal chambers. Oriana and Oren, Fergus' wife and child, lay dead in their rooms, Oriana obviously having been assaulted before the mercy of death having been granted her. At least Oren's death had been quick and merciful. As merciful as one could grant a six year old boy playing at his toy soldiers.

Hatred flared in Adrian's chest as the pair raced from their chambers, cutting and shooting down any foes that were fool enough to stand against them.

Anger and hatred pushed Adrian on; concern for her husband pushed Eleanor past the pain and fear.

They paused only briefly to gather the family sword and shield from the treasury, determined not to let these ancient heirlooms be sullied by Howe's hand.

They found Roland Gilmore, knight of Highever, friend and sometime lover of Adrian, fighting off more of Howe's men and one of the Arl's house mages. Adrian raced to the knight's side, granting him a mirthless smirk, as he swung his greatsword into the side of one of the lighter armored men pressing Gilmore's back.

Once the traitorous Howe's men were all dead, Gilmore advised the Cousland nobles that Teryn Bryce had last been seen in the company of the Grey Warden, Duncan, fighting to find his family.

"He was sorely wounded, and the Grey Warden had insisted on carrying him to the servant's exit in the larder," the red haired knight explained, pausing only to catch his breath.

"We must go to him," Eleanor told her son, pulling a healing poultice from her pouch and applying it to a nasty gash in the knight's cheek.

Smiling his thanks, Gilmore took the poultice, holding it in place as the Teryna removed her hand. "Indeed. The two of you must leave. We will hold the gates here, hopefully giving you ample time to escape."

"No," Adrian moved closer to the knight, placing a hand to his shoulder. "I'll not abandon you."

Gilmore smiled, his handsome face weary, his dark red hair matted down with sweat and blood. "_My Lord_," he emphasized the words. "You have your duty, I have mine." Eleanor pulled on Adrian's arm, bidding him to follow her. Gilmore watched for a moment as Adrian met his eyes, and, with a brief nod, turned to follow his mother to the larder.

With a heavy sigh, content that Adrian would survive, Ser Gilmore turned back to the heavy, double doors, shouting orders to his men as he joined those braced against them. He turned briefly to watch Adrian's retreating back, and then turned his full attention to making certain that the Cousland heir survived.

It was with a heavy heart Adrian left Gilmore behind. He and Roland had known each other since childhood, and even before they became entangled in any romantic interludes they had been friends. To the nobleman, it felt almost wrong to leave the knight behind while he fled to the hidden entrance in the larder.

Duty demanded Ser Gilmore remain behind.

Duty demanded Adrian seek out Arl Howe and take his head and place it on a pike!

He glanced over at his mother, so determined, anxious to find her husband. So he led her, and several other guards, through various battles against the lesser warriors (thieves, rogues, and ner'r do wells the treacherous Arl managed to win over with coin and promises of looting). Finally, they made their way to the larder, past the bodies of Nan and her elven assistants, into the pantry, where Bryce Cousland lay in a puddle of his own blood and bile, struggling to regain his feet. It was obvious to the young noble his father did not have much longer for life. Together, with his mother, he rushed to the elder noble's side, pushing the man back to the ground as he struggled through his pouches, seeking and pulling out healing poultices.

"Save them, my boy," Bryce's voice was weak, far too weak. Adrian knew his father was dead, but stubbornness demanded he keep trying to keep the man alive. He ignored his father's words, brushed aside the hands the sought to still his own, and pressed a poultice to the gaping wound in his father's stomach. A gut wound, the young warrior knew, and could see that his father strove to not only keep his innards inside his body, but to prevent his dear wife from seeing just how horrendous his wound was. By the sharp intake of breath, Adrian knew that his mother had seen and understood the severity of her husband's wounds.

As they tried to ease Bryce's suffering, another man entered the larder. Adrian lunged to his feet, his greatsword in his hands, ready to strike. His stance relaxed, only somewhat, as he recognized the man, Duncan, who had entered.

The Grey Warden was not an overly tall man, standing a few inches shorter of Adrian's impressive six foot and a half form. He was broad shouldered, but lanky, with dark skin, hair and eyes. Although the man had mentioned he was born in Highever, Adrian would have guessed the man's origins to be Riviani.

With a cautious glance to the towering warrior, Duncan swept by, kneeling before the dying noble.

"Bryce," he said in low tones, "I am sorry I could not have gotten to you sooner…"

"Ease, my friend," Bryce remarked, sharking his head, gasping at what the movement cost him. "The fault lies squarely on Rendon Howe's shoulders."

"We need to get Father and Mother out of here," Adrian interrupted before Duncan could say more.

The Grey Warden turned his head, studying the young man beside him. Anxiety and fear for his parents was clear upon hi strong features. Determination and strength all but exuded from the young man. As Eleanor extolled the virtues of her son's fighting prowess, Duncan nodded, not at all surprised that it was Adrian that had all but plowed through the enemies that destroyed his home, and had led so many others to the safety afforded by the servants' entrance.

"Please Duncan," Bryce was saying, his voice growing weak with each word. "Take my son and wife to safety."

"No, Bryce!" Eleanor bent her lovely face closer to her husband's anguished one. "We cannot leave you behind!"

But the Teyrn merely shook his head sadly, his blue eyes fixed upon his wife's beautiful face. "I've not long for this world, my love," he whispered, "and I can leave it, knowing that you and our son will be safely away from this place."

"Father…" Adrian began to protest, but he stopped as Bryce weakly shook his head.

"You must…find your brother, Fergus…" Bryce took a deep, shuddering breath. "Find him, and let him….and the king know of Howe's treachery…"

As his father's voice faded off, Adrian nodded his head, "I will, Father. And together, Fergus and I shall claim blood rights against the Howe family."

Whether Bryce heard those words, Adrian was not certain. His father's usually bright grey-blue eyes had dimmed somewhat, his breathing more shallow as he lay upon the bloodied larder floor.

"We must go," Duncan urged from behind the bereft family, his tone low, hints of sympathy therein.

Bryce roused at the sound of his friend's voice. "Duncan," he murmured softly, causing the warden to bend down to hear the noble's words. "Please…take my son…" he paused, struggling to catch his breath, "and Eleanor…from this place. See them to the King at Ostagar." His voice cracked into a racking cough, blood and bile flecking his lips.

Adrian watched as Duncan grimaced, and then the warden replied. "I will, my friend. But, I fear that I must ask a boon in return."

Nodding his head, Bryce said, "Anything."

"What is happening here pales in comparison to the darkspawn threat." Duncan leaned closer, holding Bryce's fading eyes with his own dark orbs. "I will take your family to Ostagar and report what has happened here to the king. In return, I invite your son to join the Grey Warden ranks."

A frown, deep and sorrowful, crossed Bryce's face. Adrian tried desperately to force down the rage that threatened to boil over. The man had the gall to force blackmail upon a dying man! Adrian surged to his feet as his father responded, "So it…will be."

"No!" Adrian shouted, looming over the smaller warden, his blue eyes flashing. "I have a duty to my family…to see that Fergus yet lives and exact vengeance upon Howe and his family!"

"We Couslands…always do our duty," his father concurred from the floor, gazing up at his son. "The darkspawn threat…"

"I know the darkspawn threat is real, Father," Adrian's voice calmed slightly, not wanting to cause his father further distress. "So I shall fight in the King's army, with Highever men, and put my sword against the darkspawn in that manner. I refuse," he looked Duncan squarely in the eye, meeting the warden's steady gaze with his own. "To join an order that blackmails a dying man for the safety of what is left of his family."

"Adrian," Bryce whispered, his strength failing, "at all costs, we do our duty. You must see this through." The Teyrn turned his dying eyes to Duncan. "I agree."

"I won't," Adrian vehemently spat, his eyes glowing hatred at the warden.

Duncan sighed, saying, "Then I have no choice. I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription upon you, Adrian Cousland. You shall travel with me to Ostagar where you shall join the ranks of the Grey Wardens."

Adrian clenched his teeth, stepping forward to tower over the smaller man, his greatsword clenched in one large hand. Duncan met his glare calmly as his hands moved to the daggers hidden upon his body. His mother's words to his father caused the young man to back off and turn to watch his parents.

"Bryce," Eleanor whispered to her husband, "are you sure?"

The Teyrn could only nod, his strength too far spent for further words.

"Then, darling," she turned to Adrian, taking in the anger the clouded her son's handsome face. "Go with Duncan. I shall remain behind with your father."

The shock that coursed through the young man was evident upon his face. Shaking his head firmly, he said, "Duncan's _blackmail _includes you, Mother. And I'll not let you waste your life."

"I…agree," Bryce mumbled, an unsteady hand falling upon his wife's. "Rendon has…always had an eye for you. I fear…"

"I'll kill every one of those bastards that comes through that door," the Teyrna said viciously, her green eyes flashing. "But I shan't abandon you."

Bryce looked into the face of his fierce wife, his battle maiden. For years, they had fought side by side against the Orlesians, and had ruled the Highever Teyrn wisely together. Never a wilting flower, his wife would defend his dying body to her last breath. He knew he could not argue her against it, and so acquiesced with a nod of his head, finally lying flat to the floor.

Eleanor turned to her son, pushing him with a strong hand. "Go, my son. Live. Find your brother; fight by the Grey Wardens' sides. And, in the end, Howe will see justice visited upon him." Of his parents, Eleanor had always been the one more like her son; fierce, ready for a fight. She understood the value of blade and bow like few women did, and she was encouraging her son to shed blood for their family.

Adrian argued with his mother, trying in vain to convince her not to give up her own life so easily. She merely smiled at him, and placed a kiss upon his cheek. The sounds of doors being battered in echoed in the small room, and Duncan bade they leave now. With a final push, Eleanor rose, turning toward the door, nocking an arrow to her longbow, readying it for flight.

It was with a heart full of sorrow, anger, rage and hatred that Adrian allowed himself to be led from the larder, through the servant's entrance and out of the castle, leaving behind all he had known for his entire life - family, friends.

DA:O

Duncan watched as the young nobleman moved with amazing grace through the trees, keeping his large figure blended well into the shadows. For such a large man, he managed to keep his steps quiet and steady, his form well blended into the night. The grey warden could also sense the intense emotions that fairly flowed off the young man and knew that he would have difficulty with him until the joining. Such was how it had to be, and yet the Commander of the Grey in Fereldan hated that he had to use such heavy handed tactics to get the recruit he had truly wanted. While Ser Gilmore would have been as fine a grey warden as they were, Adrian Cousland had been the recruit he had truly wanted.

And yet, from their first meeting, the young Cousland had displayed no desire to join the warden ranks, even telling the commander to his face that he had felt the order outdated and unnecessary. Duncan shook his head. The last Blight had been over four centuries before, in far away Ayesleigh. The exile of the order for over two centuries had done little benefit to the reputation of the wardens, who had become known as free loaders to those who paid in to their tithe.

Duncan stole a glance at the taller man. In the dark, his light blond hair was darkened to near brown, his finely chiseled features - features he acquired from his mother more so than his father - clearly defined against the gray-black sky. The commander did not miss the clenching of his jaw or the stiffness that he carried himself with.

Yes, he knew that he would have difficulty with this one . He decided that, of the junior wardens to take the man under his wing, he would choose Darrian over Alistair. While he wondered if Adrian would have difficulty following orders delivered by an elf, Duncan knew that of the two junior wardens, Darrian was least likely to take any attitude this young noble would more than likely cast in his direction, and more than likely be far more able to put the man in his place than Alistair could.

He allowed himself a heavy sigh, and then continued to lead the other man further from the only home he had ever known.

DA:O

Anger gave his limbs strength to continue as they raced through the woods and further from his home.

Rage gave him something to latch onto when his heart felt it would burst, forcing the sorrow from him, overtaking him with its red heat.

Hatred flashed in his eyes and he tossed it to the Grey Warden he raced along beside, his mind working, readying itself for the confrontation he knew would ensue soon.

Pride gave his determination strength that he would not be subjected to the whims of an order that used guile and blackmail to enhance their ranks.

Trees flashed by, clouds overhead darkened the sky, and still Adrian raced along, further from his home, from those he had loved.

The further from his home he went, the less his heart felt anything other than the anger, rage, hatred and pride that he had latched onto. These gave him the strength he would need. He slowly released the other feelings he had always been blessed to indulge in: love, joy, peace…these all died with Oriana, Oren, Roland, Bryce, Eleanor, Iona…and far too many others that had graced his life and made it worth living.

He spared a glance at the warden who ran gracefully beside him.

And he planned.


	9. Chapter 9

_Thanks for the reviews!: Nithu_

_This chapter is rather short; writing for Adrian is a bit tiring - emotionally so. I hope that I can convey the man well here; I'm not used to writing terribly angry people…_

_Beyond the Sylvan Paths_

_Chapter 9_

Two nights from Highever found the pair of refugees squatting amidst the trees, eyes searching out any signs of pursuit. Apparently, they had made their escape unnoticed. Adrian only hoped that Howe or his men would not notice he was not among the injured or dead until many more days had past.

The young noble glanced over at his companion, and anger anew seethed in his veins. During their flight he had put all thoughts of visiting his wrath upon Duncan in favor of more distance between himself and imminent death. Now, with the distance they had managed to acquire during sleepless nights and cautious days, the feeling of wanting to strike at the older man with blade came crashing over him. A portion of the young man shuddered at the intensity of his hatred for the Grey Warden, that portion that was the last remnants of all that had been the man's personae, one he had lived with his entire life. Now, however, he found his very soul slipping away, settling into a darkness he had never known before.

And Adrian found that, for the most part, he liked it.

He felt stronger, driven by anger and hatred rather than compassion and joy.

The young man pushed himself to his feet, frowning into the darkness. Duncan rose as well, turning slightly to peer into the forest surrounding them. The warden turned at the sound of Adrian's voice.

"'What is happening here pales in comparison to the darkspawn threat,'" the young man muttered, anger tingeing his voice. "That is what you said to a dying man before blackmailing him, as he lay in a puddle of his own blood, knowing that those he was sworn to protect lay dead, dying or worse. As though the lives lost at Highever meant nothing."

Duncan turned to fully face the irate man. "That was not the intent of my words."

Adrian shook his blond head, taking a threatening step forward. "They were the words you spoke, and the intent was clear. Unless they died by darkspawn hands, their deaths mean nothing!" Adrian spat at the Grey Warden, spittle splashing upon Duncan's dusky cheek.

Raising a hand to calmly wipe the spittle, Duncan shook his head. "The meaning was that more will die by darkspawn hands than died at the hands of Howe's men."

"Dead is dead, Duncan," Adrian allowed his anger and hatred to pull him through, "Men, women and children - human and elf - warriors and servants - died regardless of who held the sword that ended their lives." The noble took another step, standing now toe to toe with the elder man. "That you grey wardens refuse to see the humanity of it matters not a wit to me, and only further strengthens my initial opinion that the Grey Wardens are an order best avoided rather than sought." He lifted his chin, glaring defiantly down at the other man. "I had no desire to join your ranks when you were an honored guest within my family's halls, I certainly have no desire to so join now that I see how inhuman you and your kith are."

Duncan took a step back, his dark eyes searching the other man's face. Anger, hatred and rage colored his skin, making his eyes sharp as daggers. The grief that Duncan had assumed would take over did not make its appearance. Rather is was subsumed by the ire and abhorrence that so clearly marked the young Cousland features. Grief Duncan could handle easily, awaiting for it to subside; the more negative emotions the man was displaying could prove catastrophic to his plans.

If he had to kill Adrian, then his trip to Highever had been for naught.

"You have little choice, Adrian," Duncan's soft, low voice broke through the silence. "You have been conscripted within our ranks, and will so serve as a Grey Warden."

A blond brow rose, a smirk crossed his full lips. "A conscription that I wonder how you intend to enforce." he challenged, his feet braced and apart, ready for a battle despite the lack of blade in his hand.

His body remaining relaxed, Duncan's voice raised only slightly. "Don't try to push it, lad," he grimaced, recalling how he had challenged his conscription, how he had tried numerous times to escape. But, he had never threatened the violence that Adrian now did, and he wondered how he could manage to salvage this recruit.

"Push it, eh?" Adrian took the step forward that Duncan had retreated. "No one knows about the conscription - well, no one alive at any rate." He bent his head down, glaring into Duncan's calm eyes. "You haven't even managed to send word to your lackeys. So, tell me, _Commander_," he sneered, "Just how do you plan on enforcing a conscription where the draftee won't simply and meekly follow you as though you were the savior of the world?"

Almost in a blur, the older man ducked down, his leg sweeping out, catching Adrian just behind the knee. With a grunt, the larger, younger man found himself flat on his back, staring up into the calm features of the Grey Warden, the feel of the man's blade cold against his neck.

"If I must kill you, Adrian, it would be a great waste," Duncan replied, his voice low, but Adrian could hear the breathless quality to it. "I did not conscript you only to have to kill you." The warden took a step back, his blade still held out at the ready, his eyes intense. "But, if I must, I will. Your skills are needed, lad. And you have a great heart. It is for those reasons I had sought to enlist you, not just Ser Gilmore, into our ranks." Duncan frowned. Adrian remained on the ground, up on his elbows now, staring at the older man. "Regardless of what you think of our order, we fight against the darkspawn to save humanity. If it seems we have lost some of that along the way…it is unfortunately a side effect for those of us who spend our entire lives battling against such inhuman foes."

Adrian stared, his hands grasping at the grassy forest floor, dirt clumping under his fingernails. With a frown, the young man pushed himself up and to his feet. His posture was no more relaxed, but the expression upon his face more thoughtful than it had been. "I still have no desire to be a grey warden," the young man reiterated, not giving an inch.

With a sigh, Duncan sheathed his blade. Before turning away, he murmured, so quietly Adrian was uncertain if he had heard him correctly. "Neither did I."

DA:O

Darrian grinned as he introduced Say'reil and Alim to Alistair, his fellow junior warden.

"Looks to me, Darrian," Alistair quipped as he smiled hugely at Say'reil, "that Say'reil is the new junior warden."

The elven warden laughed. "Hmmm…I hadn't thought of that, Ali. Perhaps that makes us senior wardens now and she can play at being the grunt."

The Dalish woman's eyes narrowed at the two men, glancing from human to elf. "Not very likely, gentlemen," she said in her soft voice, tiny lightening playing about her hands. Alim grinned openly at the display while the elven warden backed off playfully. Alistair watched the display and, with a slight wave of his hand, grinned widely as the lightening currents vanished from the woman's hands. Both mages stiffened as they felt the mana draining power flow, casting glares at the human warden. Darrian silently cursed himself, stepping between the elves and human.

"Sorry, Say'reil, Alim," he turned to the elven mages, mentally slapping himself for not warning them of Alistair's training as a templar. "Alistair, here, was being trained as a templar when he was recruited."

"Would have been nice to have learned that a bit earlier, Darrian," the warning was clear in the clipped tones of Say'reil's voice, and Alim could only nod his agreement.

Alistair flushed slightly as he stepped forward, his hands held up in a placating manner. "I apologize," he said, his voice calm and sincere. "I meant no harm. Really," he turned to the elven female who was watching him with narrowed, distrustful eyes. "I had no idea you did not know."

"Templar, huh?" Say'reil turned to Darrian, and he flinched at the anger he saw on her face. "So, is that why the Wardens are so eager and fearless about having mages in their midst? They've their own pet templars about to keep us in line?"

"What? No!" Darrian insisted, flashing Alistair an apologetic smile. "Alistair is the only one with any templar training, and not to keep any Warden mages in line!"

"It's true," Alistair put in, stepping forward, his hands still held up in a non-threatening manner. "The Wardens know the value of a mage, and would never subject any to the oppression of the Chantry." He offered a small smile and Say'reil found herself relenting under the candid grin of the affable young man. He held out a hand, his smile widening into a grin. "Forgiven?"

The Dalish mage glanced down at the proffered hand, and offered Alistair a smile of her own. Taking his hand, she replied, "Nothing to forgive, Alistair. A mere misunderstanding."

Relief washed over him as Darrian realized that neither mage would seek to disembowel Alistair or himself. At least, not at this moment.

Darrian sent Alistair off with Alim to show the young mage around the camp, gather him supplies and basically keep him entertained. Darrian took Say'reil under his wing to show her around the King's camp as well as the Wardens' camp closer to the field of battle.

DA:O

The sun's morning light, bright and welcoming, shone down, offering warmth that was only physically felt by the pair of men who inhabited the small camp. The larger of the two, a blond man with piercing green eyes, scowled into his bowl as he finished the last of the porridge that was that morning's meal. The other man, smaller and darker, scanned the area surrounding them before turning to the other.

"We are making good time," Duncan said to a recalcitrant Adrian. "We should make Redcliffe by day's end tomorrow."

"Redcliffe?" Adrian spared a glance to the warden before turning his attention yet again to his bowl. "What business would the _Grey Wardens _have there?" Although he was curious why they would be stopping at the home of one of his father's closest friends, Adrian's tone of voice held contempt.

Duncan merely looked at him, and then moved carefully across the small encampment, taking a seat across from the fire, sitting directly across from the angry young man. "I hope you do not plan to cause trouble while at Redcliffe," Duncan said in measured tones.

A blond brow quirked up, and a smirk crossed Adrian's full lips. "Whyever would I do such a thing?" venomous innocence coloring his voice.

The Warden sat, his eyes fixed upon the younger man's face. Duncan's own face betrayed nothing, whereas he could read only loathing upon the other. He stifled an inward sigh. The word he had received of the young Cousland had been one of great talent with that huge sword he carried so easily upon his back, a strong sense of honor both on and off the field. The rumors had also spoken of a man who, despite his size, was one who exuded grace and held a great heart, always ready with a smile or laugh.

The angry youth now exuded hatred and rage, and Duncan knew that his own interference at the castle - or lack thereof, Duncan was uncertain which course of action had been worse in the Cousland's eyes - had only acerbated a difficult situation. Having conscripted the young noble had made even that far more worse.

"I need to speak with the Arl on behalf of the King," Duncan offered, still watching the man as he set his bowl down.

A frown furrowed between his brow. "Ah, so the Wardens are not only meddlers, freeloaders and blackmailers," he ignored the dark look Duncan shot him, "but errand boys as well," Adrian quipped, now watching the warden as closely as the warden watched him.

Duncan knew that Adrian said the words to anger him, and Maker help him the boy was succeeding. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Duncan merely shook his head, rising. Adrian suppressed the triumphant smirk that threatened to cross his face and rose as well to begin breaking down camp.

They traveled in silence, each ignoring the other as much as they could, given their close proximity to one another. Duncan continued to mull over how he was going to handle the confrontation he was certain would erupt at any moment, the events from a few days before not withstanding. Adrian merely allowed himself to close off any thoughts of Duncan and the Wardens, tried to block off any memories of home, and merely take in the serene surroundings that was the fishing village of Redcliffe.

The young man had many happy memories of the village, and each and every one - ranging from the time he was just a child to just this past year - threatened to overtake the careful wall he had been building around such thoughts and feelings. His eyes inevitably sought out the hilly path to the tavern, where the fiery and passionate Bella served as the tavern wench. A grin threatened to make an appearance as he thought of the nights the pair of them had spent with one another.

That train of thought brought him to his final night in his room back at Cousland castle, where he had spent the eve in the company of the beautiful elven maid, Iona. The pair had often spent their nights with one another whenever Lady Landra had made one of her many visits to Eleanor. Those few times that Iona had not accompanied her lady had been few and far between, and usually Landra's son, Dairren, more than made up for the lack of the pretty elf.

Adrian gritted his teeth together, forcefully pushing those memories aside. They were too happy, too content, and had no place in his present. He glanced at Duncan, watching with narrowed eyes as the warden made this way past the village, and further up the way to the bridge that led to Castle Redcliffe.


	10. Chapter 10

_See? I haven't abandoned this story. Halla Reborn just took up way too much of my mental energies. I've so very little to spare._

_First, I want to thank those who read and especially those who reviewed the previous chapter: Superstar Kid, Nithu_

_Beyond the Sylvan Paths_

_Chapter 10_

Say'reil followed Darrian around the camp, smiling as he introduced her to soldiers and Grey Wardens alike. The dark elven man had a confident air about him, one she had recognized during their time together traveling from the Brecilian Forest to the Circle and then on to Ostagar. His manner was direct, and she could tell that he occasionally had to force himself to not treat humans any differently from the elves they encountered. She wondered at that; as an elf raised amongst humans, she had assumed he would be as comfortable in their presence as in the presence of any elf.

For her part, despite having been trained and prepared to go out into the world and mingle with the other races, Say'reil was finding herself distressingly out of her element. Most disconcerting to the young elf, she found herself the subject of many stares. Some were appreciative, others disdainful. Even some of the elves they had encountered remained standoffish when they spied her tattoos and recognized her as a wild elf. Darrian tried to play those encounters down more so than any with humans, and while the mage appreciated his efforts, she could still feel the difference between herself and the other elves.

Later that day, she and Darrian met up with Claudio to discuss Alim's joining. It had been decided that, since Alim was Say'reil's recruit, they could perform the joining for him sooner than those who awaited Duncan's return. It was also decided that both Darrian and Say'reil would accompany the young mage into the Wilds to gather the required darkspawn blood. Glad for the opportunity to leave the human camp, Say'reil leaped at the chance, striding away to her tent to gather her weapons as Darrian went in his search of the elven mage.

DA:O

Quietly he stood, feeling nothing as he gazed around the familiar hall of the Arl of Redcliffe's castle. He had been herein many times as a child. The Arl himself had been considered a family friend. But, now, Adrian stood, silent, while Duncan met with the Arl, speaking in quiet tones. He could see the Arl's gray eyes stray to his still form, and still he remained quiet, unmoving, uncaring. If he saw the pity in the Arl's eyes, they meant little to him at this point.

The Arl flinched slightly, and turned his attention back fully to the Commander of Fereldan's Grey Wardens.

Adrian himself was slightly amazed at how little emotion he felt. He knew he should have felt something, anything, when he listened as Duncan explained to the Arl what had happened at Highever. He should have reacted when the Arl drew the younger man into a fatherly hug. Yet, all he had done was stiffen at the contact, and stare directly into the other man's startled eyes as he withdrew. He barely took note of the confusion thereupon the Arl's face, nor the slight tightening of Duncan's lips at the action. Or rather, inaction of the young lord.

For he felt nothing, for there _was _nothing. He would accept his place in the Grey Wardens, although he still felt the need to strike out against that in any manner he could. He would slay any darkspawn he was pointed at. He would stop the Blight - if Blight this was indeed.

But when it was over, when his obligation to this current crisis was over, then he would regain himself. He would allow vengeance to fuel his actions, give him strength.

And every Howe to walk Thedas' lands would die by his hands.

So he swore to the Maker.

DA:O

A look of utter disgust crossed his handsome young face as he bent down to gather the blood into the vial. Both Darrian and Say'reil had insisted the young mage wear thin leather gloves to protect his hands from the poison that was darkspawn blood. Grimacing as some of the black ichor glazed his leather-clad fingertips, he held the vial out to the Dalish mage, grateful when she took the offending object from his hands.

"Did you have to do this?" Alim asked as he stood, straightening, holding his hands out to Say'reil so that she could remove the gloves without poisoning herself.

With a chuckle, she shook her head, and the male mage frowned. Seeing his expression, she clarified. "I had already battled several darkspawn before even meeting with Duncan. Apparently, he had foreseen the need to put me through the joining so he had already collected a vial of the blood from the darkspawn I had already killed." She shrugged. "He apparently thinks of everything."

Darrian laughed, nodding his dark head as he herded the two mages from the area, seeking the path back toward the main camp. "Duncan does that, indeed." He smirked at the other elves. "Oh, and watch his hands. He may be the Warden Commander, but he's still every bit a rogue."

"Lucky us we have little for him to steal," Alim sulked prettily, not happy at all that his robes were currently filthy with dirt, grass, blood, and Maker knew whatever else! Say'reil teased the younger elf, nudging him slightly with her shoulder.

"We should find you new robes, or," there was a twinkle in her purple eyes as the other mage looked up at her. "perhaps we should find you some light leather armor to wear."

"Armor?" Alim sounded aghast. "Me?" He glanced down at his robes, those of a fully harrowed mage. "But, I just got these." He said in a very small, soft voice, plucking absently at the fabric of his new enchanter robes.

"They are impractical," the Dalish mage insisted, fingering the leather ties to her own armor. "They won't protect you against a darkspawn spear. Plus, the skirt…"

"What about the skirt?" Alim asked, glancing over at her suspiciously. "It's comfortable!" And then a sly grin crossed his face. "And allows for easy access…"

"Yes, yes, I'm certain it is," she conceded, flushing slightly at the innuendo in the Circle Mage's voice. "However, can you really tell me, in all honesty, that you can run in that thing?" Her eyes settled upon his face, and he glanced down to the hem of his robe, his finger twisting at the ornate belt at his waist. When he did not reply, Say'reil looked over at Darrian, a smirk on her face. The other elf winked at her. "We'll see if we can find you something that you will be comfortable wearing and that will be more conducive for fighting in."

A sly look came to Alim's bright eyes, and he grinned over at Say'reil, sidling over to her side, hooking her arm in with his. She raised a dark brow, glancing down at where his hand had settled upon her elbow and was tracing small circles upon the flesh of her arm. "Can I pick the color?" he asked playfully, grinning up into the taller elf's face. Chuckling, she nodded, turning them both to follow the senior Warden from the Wilds.

DA:O

_Maker, what a long day_! Claudio ran his long fingered hand through his dark hair, turning from where the young elven mage lay upon the stone ground, his eyes closed tightly, twitching from the dark visions the Antivan Warden was certain he found within the Fade. The Second looked up, taking note of the concern upon the faces of the other elves. Darrian's expression was far more guarded, as the senior warden knew what to expect. Say'reil, however, knelt beside the younger elf, concern etched clearly upon her pretty face as she brushed a hand lightly over Alim's face. Claudio had forbidden the mage to cast any spells upon the other mage, stating that the dreams and struggle to consciousness were part of the joining as much as drinking the blood. She nodded, recalling Darrian's explanation from her own joining. But she did not like it, and would not leave the former Circle Mage's side.

The dark Antivan stepped over to the male elf's side, grasping his arm firmly to pull him to the side. Darrian cast the Second a concerned look, but turned away to follow the older man, leaving Say'reil and Alim in the center of the temple ruin.

"What's wrong?" Darrian asked, taking note for the first time the concern that had settled upon the human's face.

Claudio shrugged, glancing back at Say'reil, then turning his attention fully to the other warden. "Truly, I do not really know," he shrugged slightly. "I find myself, however, a little concerned by Duncan's continued absence."

"It's only been a few weeks," Darrian said, frowning. "He went up to Highever to see about a potential recruit. And, I believe he was going to stop by Redcliffe on his journey back."

Claudio nodded. "Of this, I am aware," When he was agitated, the former Crow's heavy accent became even heavier. Darrian struggled slightly to make out the man's words. "Call it intuition, but I have a feeling that just will not leave me be."

Darrian glanced away from the temple, back toward the route he and the others had arrived via just a week past. Claudio was not one to allow his feelings to get the better of him.

"Tell you what," Darrian said after a moment's pause, turning back to his friend. "How about I take Say'reil and Alim and retrace the path toward Redcliffe. Chances are, we'll meet up with Duncan en route."

Nodding his dark head, Claudio clapped Darrian's shoulder. "I would appreciate that, my friend. Besides," he turned his attention back to Say'reil, who was now helping Alim to sit up. "I think that the camp makes our pretty Dalish mage a little uncomfortable." He shrugged, turning back to the elf. "She will, of course, need to get used to having so many humans about, but I think a reprieve would be well in order for now."

Agreeing wholeheartedly, Darrian stepped away from the Antivan and toward the other elves.

DA:O

They had departed Redcliffe at daybreak two days prior, much to Adrian's relief. He had found being in the presence of the Arl and his family uncomfortable. The sympathetic glances and words from both the Arl and Arlessa merely served to bring to mind all he had lost, and did little to improve his disposition toward the Warden Commander.

For Duncan's part, the man remained silent, yet observant of the changes that had occurred within the young noble. Adrian had, for the most part, maintained a silent aura of anger about himself prior to their visit to Redcliffe. Now, that silence had taken on a more ominous feel to it, and the Commander found himself again wondering if he need fear for the young man's arrival to Ostagar. No fear for his own personal safety came to mind; he had fought darkspawn and other monstrosities throughout his tenure as a Grey Warden. He knew his Calling would soon be upon him. His greater fear was that he would need to slay the promising conscript.

But, Adrian continued to remain silent, aloof, and continued to walk slightly behind the elder man. Still, he did not allow himself to relax. It was the sound of veridium scraping along metal and leather that alerted him to the fact that the young noble had not given up on his expectations for escape.

Twisting with an agility that belied his age, Duncan swept downwards, drawing both sword and dagger from their sheaths. As he straightened, he brought both blades upwards, crossed above the hilts, catching the descending death that was the Cousland noble's greatsword.

DA:O

"Stop twitching!" Say'reil scolded the younger mage as she slapped his hand from the collar of his new armor.

"It feels strange," Alim protested, dropping his hand, fingering the leather trousers he wore. "I feel all…confined."

Chuckling, Darrian jested, "Just too used to…swinging in the breeze, as it were, eh?"

Grinning at the tall, dark elven man, Alim batted his eyelashes at the handsome elf. "All too true. Those robes certainly made for easy access…"

"By the Creators!" Say'reil nearly shouted in irritation, tossing her hands above her head as she glared at both men. "Will you two desist with the innuendo!" She took note that both men grinned widely at each other, and she stepped forward, poking Alim in the shoulder to emphasize each word spoken. "Just. Get. Use. To. It."

With that, she turned on her heel, taking the lead further from Ostagar as the trio continued their path toward Redcliffe and, with luck, their Commander.

Both warrior and mage chuckled, realizing that they had probably pushed the female elf a bit too far, they started after her.

They had left the confines of Ostagar the previous day, much to the Dalish elf's delight. She had to admit that as interesting as it was to be among so many different people, it had also been slightly terrifying. The looks she had garnered, some of the things she had overhead the soldiers say…she was glad that she had Darrian and Alim for company. She had even welcomed Alistair's presence as well as he had proven to be an affable young man, despite his earlier faux pas. However, the human junior warden had to remain behind to keep an eye on the recruits Duncan had procured earlier, especially that 'Daveth fellow'.

It was now mid-day, and they had eaten their mid-day meal while walking. The dried meat and hardtack was not what the Dalish woman would have called appetizing, so she had, as they walked, picked various berries and shared them with her companions. Darrian smiled at the offer, accepting a handful, while Alim's eyes had, yet again, widened to the size of saucers as he spied the fresh fruit. He had explained that, at the Tower, it was a treat to receive dried fruits, so fresh fruit was an unheard of luxury. He accepted the handful the wild elf presented to him as though he had been given a great gift, and thusly further endeared him to her heart.

Her purple eyes shifted from the smaller elf to the darker one, his strides confident and sure as he matched her pace for pace. His black hair shone brightly in the sunlight, his face deeply tanned and set in concentration. He wore black, supple leather armor, and carried a shield upon his back and a sword and dagger at each hip. She wondered about the scar that bisected his eye, but decided that she would ask once they had gotten to know each other a little bit better. After all, neither of them had offered up any personal history as of yet. She was a little loathe to be the first to either offer up her own history or pry into his.

Darrian turned, smirking at the attention he noticed the female elf was paying him. Flushing slightly, she opened her mouth to say something, when the warrior lifted a hand, motioning her to silence. Frowning, she stopped, turning an ear to catch what noise the other elf detected, a hand sweeping out to catch Alim, who had not been paying attention to anything other than a butterfly that had swept into his field of vision.

There, to the northwest, she was certain she heard the sounds of battle. Nodding to Darrian, who had pulled his shield from his back and his sword from his hip, she pulled her bow free. Alim, now aware of his surroundings and what was happening, pulled his staff from his shoulder holster, and followed after the other elves.

DA:O

The heavy two handed greatsword swept downward, the strength of the young man fully behind it. Duncan dodged to the side, twisting away as he raised his sword to deflect the heavier blade. His mind working quickly, seeking a way to still salvage the recruit, the Commander of the Grey tucked into a roll, rising to his feet behind the young man.

Adrian was no fool, and had obviously battled against those who used stealth and agility in battle. Following Duncan's movements, he twisted, pivoting on his feet to keep the older man in his field of vision. He acted solely on instinct at this time, all thought other than the desire to see this man _dead _subjugated to the very back of his mind.

Duncan's foot lashed out, seeking to trip his opponent over. Adrian tucked his leg in, sweeping his blade down to catch the other man's foot. Realizing the danger in time, Duncan instead dropped into a roll, past the blade, rising once again with extreme grace to his feet, blades held at the ready.

So focused upon his quarry was he that the young noble did not notice as an elven warrior burst onto the scene, a black streak across the green horizon, his sword and shield raised. He felt the blow as the dark elf's shield connected with his shoulder, knocking him away from where Duncan stood.

As Adrian recovered from his stumble, he was hit by an invisible force, causing him to stagger backwards. Raising his eyes, he spied a small, blond elven mage, his staff raised, readying another spell.

Growling, he took a swipe at the elf nearest him, the smaller man bending backwards away from the deadly blade as he raised his shield to deflect it further.

Duncan stepped backwards, away from the tip of the impressive greatsword as Darrian deflected it further away from his Commander. He barely turned his head, but took notice as Say'reil slipped along the perimeter, her bow in hand. While he did not know the blond elf, Duncan was pleasantly surprised - and greatly relieved - that the trio of elves had arrived when they did.

And that they seemed to be able to work so well together.

Adrian scowled at the warrior elf before him, shrugging off the icy spell Alim had cast at him. He did not take notice of the female elf that now stood behind him.

Not until he felt the cold tip of the arrow pressed against the flesh to the back of his neck, just above his silverite armor.

"Lower your arms, human," the Dalish said in a low, calm, slightly accented voice. She watched as the human battled with himself, and she pressed her arrow tighter against his flesh. "Even this close, an arrow through your neck would likely cause death."

"I could zap him with lightening," Alim quipped as he sauntered to the group, his blue eyes wary, his staff held ready in his hand.

Darrian's icy blue eyes watched the conflict that came across the young human's face, and he risked a glance toward Duncan, who had been watching the group with interest in his dark eyes. The elven warden frowned slightly at his commander, but kept his blade at the ready, should the human before him provide more trouble.

"Ease, wardens," Duncan remarked, finally, certain that the blond elf had, indeed, taken part in the joining, albeit very recently. "This is one of our new recruits."

"A recruit?" Darrian questioned, not relaxing his stance whatsoever. Say'reil lowered her bow and shouldered it, but brought forth a spell, the energy of her magic crackling along her fingers in a display that even the aggressive human, with his back to her, could sense.

"Yes," Duncan replied, stepping closer to peer directly into Adrian's sullen eyes.

"Rather petulant, isn't he?" Alim quipped, a smirk on his pretty face. He took his cue, however, from the two elves he had come to know, ignoring the older human's order to ease.

"With reason," Duncan assured the trio of elves, his eyes resting briefly upon Alim before once again settling upon Adrian. "But, I believe we will not have any further…complications, shall we?"

The young noble glared at the Commander, his hand tightening along the grip of his greatsword. A glance to the dark elf who stood before him assured him that he would not allow any further mischief and he could feel the power of the woman who stood behind him. Finally, with a curt nod, he resheathed his blade at his back, purposefully relaxing his stance in an exaggerated fashion. The elf before him relaxed only slightly, but did shoulder his shield, his sword still in hand.

"I don't recall fighting you being part of the initiation process, Duncan?" Darrian dryly remarked, his piercing eyes shifting to the older human's face.

"Normally, no," Duncan remarked as he relaxed, motioning for Say'reil to his side. "However, I do recall your challenging my authority on more than one occasion."

Chuckling, Darrian gave off a sense of ease, however maintained the naked blade in his hand. "Still do, still do."

Rolling his eyes slightly, the Warden Commander turned to Say'reil, a smile crossing his face. "I am pleased to see that you have joined our ranks, Say'reil," he bowed, his arms crossed at the wrists before his chest. With a smile, Say'reil mimicked the motion.

"May I introduce you to our newest Grey Warden," the Dalish mage waved a hand toward Alim, who was still watching Adrian as closely as Darrian was. "Alim Surana, formerly of the Circle Tower."

At the sound of his name, the young mage pulled his eyes from the now impassive features of the young man Duncan had, just moments before, been battling against. With a smirking grin, the young mage bowed to the older man, his eyes mischievous as they swept over Duncan's form, that grin turning into an appreciative smile. Again, Duncan rolled his eyes, wondering just what had been introduced into his Wardens.

"There sounds like a story behind your joining, Alim," Duncan smiled at the mage, glancing briefly over at the Dalish mage.

"As always, Commander, there is a story when is comes to me," he smirked as he finally holstered his staff. He did note that Darrian remained armed, and while Say'reil appeared relaxed, he could feel the magic flow from her in subtle waves.

Chuckling, Duncan nodded before turning his attention to the senior elven warden. Say'reil stepped nearer the human whom Duncan had named as recruit.

"I am Say'reil, formerly of Clan Mahariel," she said by way of introduction, bowing slightly to the human. Adrian turned his cold, green eyes upon her face, taking in the swirling design of her tattoos before his eyes settled upon her dark, purple eyes. She offered him a friendly smile, aware that Alim had taken a subtle step nearer her. She ignored that in her attempt to diffuse some of the tension she felt surge between the two humans.

Adrian's eyes shifted slightly to acknowledge Alim's presence. The blond elf merely raised a brow, giving the human a slight quirk of a brow. Adrian quickly dismissed him, turning his attention back to the lovely elven woman.

He noted that she was nothing like any of the elven women he had been in contact with prior. She was taller and willowy, but with pretty, slender curves. Her eyes were quite large, almond shaped and slanted, and were the darkest shade of purple he had ever seen. Chestnut hair curled around her face, some of the strands curving along the branch-like tattoo that arched across her forehead and down one cheek. And although she was dressed in leather armor and carried blades and bow, he had felt the power of her magic just moments before. He offered a glance back to the Warden Commander and the tall, dark skinned elf who had challenged him, and then back to the woman, who remained, standing patiently, a calm, earnestness in her strange eyes, for him to acknowledge her with word.

With a great sigh, the young noble returned the slight bow. "I am Adrian Cousland, formerly of Highever."

"Cousland?" Alim asked, deciding to end his impertinent staring and join in the conversation.

With a frown that deepened to a scowl, the former noble merely nodded his head, turning his back to both elves. The mages glanced at each other and, with a shrug, walked to where Duncan and Darrian spoke quietly, awaiting word to begin their return to Ostagar.

DA:O

The trek back to Ostagar was rife with tension, with Say'reil assigned to walk beside Adrian as her presence seemed the least offensive to the young noble. Along the way, the trio of elves filled Duncan in on how Say'reil had to conscript Alim into the Grey Wardens (and none missed the derisive snort from Adrian at that admission), and how Claudio had allowed the elder elves to take over the joining.

"Another mage admitted into the Grey Wardens is quite a feat," Duncan advised, nodding his appreciation at both mages. "With the more structured magic of the Circle and the ancient knowledge of the elves, we will have an impressive arsenal against the darkspawn."

Both mages smiled their appreciation at the man. While within the elven culture, mages were revered and honored, Alim's experience had been one of mistrust and fear. The blond elf most especially appreciated Duncan's candor and respect, and Darrian and Say'reil each exchanged grins as the younger elf walked a bit straighter.

Darrian, for one, was thankful that Cailan did not greet the returning group at the entrance to Ostagar. Given the new recruit's mood, he was certain that the Cousland noble would be far more offensive than Darrian could ever hope to be. The young elf turned at Duncan's word, nodding as the Commander instructed the three elves to bring Adrian to their temporary camp in the heart of Ostagar and make certain he was supplied for his sojourn into the Wilds.

Duncan then left to search out his second.

DA:O

Later found Duncan by Claudio's side as they watched a Captain in Fereldan's army instruct soldiers on how to fight darkspawn and avoid poisoning. Leaning against the cool stone of the rail that looked over the splendid ruin that was Ostagar, Duncan clasped his hands as his second listened silently to his recounting of events at Highever and thereafter.

The Antivan's dark eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you telling me, my friend, that this young recruit actually threatened your life?" He chuckled slightly. "And yet he still lives?"

Duncan sighed, shaking his head. He had expected some issue from his second regarding the young Cousland conscript. He just never knew which direction the Antivan would take.

"Indeed he did, and yes he does," Duncan replied, turning to lean over the crumbling wall. His own dark eyes scanned the area, taking note of the various soldiers in practice, lieutenants and sergeants in their midst shouting orders or encouragement, only vaguely listening to the droning sound of the captain's voice. "He has gone through much these past weeks," the commander said as he turned back to his friend, who was watching with mild amusement and close scrutiny.

"And yet still you chose to conscripted him," it was a statement, not a question. And Duncan did not miss the accusation so barely there in the second's words.

Duncan nodded. "He is very skilled. And, what I had heard of the young man before meeting him made me think he would make a perfect Grey Warden."

"Ah…before you met him he was another person," Claudio said wisely, a sage nod of his dark head. "Yet, when you pulled him from his dying family and home, that changed him, no?"

Another sigh, and Duncan nodded. "He may come out of this, he may not. But, I still believe he will make an excellent grey warden, and I still have hope."

Claudio frowned, staring at his friend. "Maybe," he said after a few moments silence. "Yet, you must remember, you conscripted him, not to save his life, but to force him into service of an order he does not seem to respect overly much." The Antivan shrugged his shoulders. "It was not the same thing as conscripting the man to keep him from the hangman's noose or, let's say, to spare him an eternity of servitude to masters who are…less than forgiving of mistakes." The Antivan shot the other man a saucy grin, and Duncan nodded.

"It still saved his life," Duncan insisted. "He would have remained…"

Claudio shrugged his shoulders lazily. "Perhaps, perhaps not. Are you now a soothsayer, a fortune teller, my friend? If so, I think perhaps we must ply that trade. It is far more profitable than being a warden." The darker man clapped his hands together suddenly. "Ah! The Carnival in Antiva City! Yes, yes…there, ah, now there is money to be made." he waggled his eyebrows suggestively at his friend. "Women who wish to be made love to by such devilishly handsome men such as well." Then his grin widened. "Or men who wish the same. Makes no difference to me." He left off with a purring hum, remembering the beauties that could be found in Antiva's greatest city.

Duncan stared at his friend, and then chuckled at the absurd suggestion. "My friend," Duncan placed a large hand upon his friend's slender shoulder. "You are right, as always. Not about going to Antiva City!" he clarified, his hands rising, "About Adrian. I am, however, certain he would have remained…"

"Perhaps he would have killed more of the traitor's men," Claudio persisted, the humor now gone from his lilting voice, his eyes growing distant for a moment. "Perhaps he could have convinced his mother to leave with him," he turned to Duncan, his own history clearly in his eyes, and the other man took a brief step back.

He had forgotten the pain of Claudio's own past, his servitude to the Crows, the price he paid for abandoning the assassin guild to seek his own freedom. And, it was this experience that made him say what he now said to his cherished friend.

"You did not give him that chance, and so now he will always blame you, right along with Howe, for his family's demise. He will always believe he could have saved someone, and yet you extracted a promise from his dying father. I wonder what loyalty the young man will give to the Wardens with such a starting history, no?" He turned slightly, his head tilted. "I have heard of these Couslands," the Antivan then turned away. "I knew Oriana Cousland when she lived in Antiva. Lovely girl. Through her family, the Crows were kept apprised of the second most powerful family in all of Fereldan. Honorable and duty bound," he shrugged, "That was the word that went around the Crows. One of the reasons why we never took any contracts on them, ever." His eyes narrowed. "A family that has been consistent with its duty for generations is not one to piss off with a mere assassination or two."

"Yet Howe did just that," Duncan gently reminded the other man.

"True, but Adrian yet lives." Claudio pointed toward the camp, "and personally, I would not want to see what happens to Howe when young Cousland finds him. And, find him he will," the ex-Crow predicted with a nod. "Of that, I have no doubt."

"So now who is the soothsayer?" Duncan laughed gently at his friend before turning his attention back to where Claudio's finger had pointed mere moments before. Both men shared a chuckle.

"Vengeance," Duncan muttered, the moment of laughter dying away, and Claudio nodded his agreement.

"So, oh wise and wondrous leader," Claudio said, trying to lighten the mood that he, admittedly, darkened. "Who is the lucky junior warden to take the handsome Cousland into the wilds?"

"I was thinking of Darrian," Duncan responded promptly. "Adrian would eat Alistair alive."

"Oh?" Claudio quipped, a dark, well formed brown raising upwards. "Do you not think our handsome, dark elf has enough to keep him occupied already?"

Duncan frowned, turning back to his friend. "Say'reil is a warden now. And she successfully brought in another mage to the fold," he said, "Alistair can guide her along…" but he stopped when Claudio shook his head, his perfectly braided hair rustling across his shoulders. "You disagree?"

"Oh, yes. Darrian may not wish to leave the side of the pretty mage as of yet, especially for one as surly and…not quite his type as the Cousland."

"Another mage is always helpful, wouldn't you agree?" Duncan asked, his eyes thoughtful.

"Si."

A smile, the first one he had genuinely felt since before going to Highever, crossed the commander's face. Duncan had been pleased: Not only had Say'reil survived the joining, but she had managed to garner a second mage for the order. He turned a thoughtful eye back toward the camp. "Perhaps I should rethink the junior warden accompanying Adrian into the Wilds. Of everyone thus far, she seemed the less likely to…agitate Adrian." The Commander of Fereldan's Grey tapped a long finger against his chin before turning back to his friend.

"So, now you think perhaps Say'reil should accompany Adrian into the wilds?" Claudio asked, his eyes narrowing slightly, uncertain if he liked that idea.

Duncan noticed the change of demeanor of his friend, but nodded. "She is the junior warden, other than Alim, who is too junior." He frowned. "But, you disagree."

Claudio nodded. "I think Alistair should be the one to accompany the young Cousland." He held up a hand to Duncan's forthcoming objections. "I know that the young man has a place in your heart, my friend. However, he needs to learn leadership skills. If we continue to pawn off new warden recruits onto Darrian or, as you just suggested, Say'reil simply because they both have obvious leadership skills, I think you continue to do our former Templar ill service."

Sighing, Duncan stared at his Antivan friend. Then, with a slow nod, he replied. "You are correct, Claudio." His gaze turning back toward camp, trying to seek out the figures of the elves and the taller human, but failing, he nodded again. "Very well. Alistair shall accompany Adrian into the Wilds to collect the darkspawn blood."

"Mayhaps sending Ser Jory and Daveth along with them will help, ah, even things out, no?"

"They have not gone through the joining yet?" Duncan was surprised.

Shaking his dark head, the Antivan chuckled. "Nay, friend. They were your recruits. I wanted you to be absolutely certain before I sent them into the Wilds."

A frown formed on Duncan's face. _More problems_? "Why?"

The former assassin gracefully shrugged his shoulders. "Daveth, I see no issue with. He has a strong heart. Were the circumstances of his life different, I would say he would have become a knight." He chuckled at the raised brow Duncan presented to him. "It is that Jory fellow. He…is skilled, yes? But, his heart, it falters. Ever is his mind upon those he left behind." Now Claudio's frown was deep. "I still am rather shocked you would conscript someone such as he."

"He may surprise you, Claudio," Duncan clapped a hand to his friend's shoulder as they both turned to leave the instruction area. "It does happen now and again."

"Phwt!" came the Antivan's response. "Seldom am I wrong, my friend. Remember that." With those words, the smaller man clapped a hand solidly to Duncan's back as they left the area in search of their recruits and junior wardens.


	11. Chapter 11

_My thanks to those who continued to alert and favorite this story! To those who have read and reviewed, an extra special thank you! I love hearing from you: Nithu, Superstar Kid, Pirate Ninjas of the Abyss_

_This chapter may seem rushed, but I merely touched on certain points at Ostagar prior to the battle. We all know what happened in the Wilds, at the joining…_

_Beyond the Sylvan Paths_

_Chapter 11_

There truly was not much for her to do once they returned to Ostagar. Darrian and Alistair each had their tasks, assigned to them prior to either elven mage having joined the Wardens. Alim had spied a mage he had known from the Circle. An elderly woman with wise, blue eyes and a kind face. And so, the young mage traipsed off to talk with the elder mage.

That left her and Adrian. Shortly after arriving at Ostagar, Duncan had sent Darrian and Alistair off on their own tasks, and assigned Adrian to Say'reil. When she frowned at that, the Commander pulled her aside, reminding her that, of them all, she was the only one that the hostile young noble had shown any deference toward, having walked the entire way by her side, speaking only to her - when he did speak. With a sigh and a glance at the petulant human, she gave the elder Warden a slight nod of her head, indicating she would perform this task. With a smile, Duncan left, once again, in the company of his Second, a handsomely dark man with an accent the Dalish woman had never heard before.

And so, still barely a stranger within the confines of Ostagar herself, Say'reil found herself leading the human male around, allowing him time to talk to the Ash Warriors stationed near the mabari kennels, or stop at the quartermaster's to sell off some items and make purchases. The quartermaster gave the elf a sidelong look, recalling their first meeting when he had inadvertently accosted her as one of his servants. That he had managed to not only walk away but walk away from the encounter intact spoke volumes for the elf's patience. He had no desire to test that patience, and so treated her as deferentially as he would any human who visited his stall.

Some time later found both human and elf standing, leaning against a tree, listening to a nearby sermon. Say'reil's face scrunched up a frown, and Adrian turned, watching her reaction.

"You do not approve, I take it," the noble said, his tone even, making certain that she understood it was not a question, but an observation.

Glancing sidelong at the man, she shook her head. "I had been trained throughout my life to walk amongst those not of the Dales," she said quietly after a moment, scowling up at the priestess. "My clan is known amongst our kind as being more…tolerant?…of those not of the Dales. And, with my training, I am considered even more tolerant than others. But this," she swept a hand forward, encompassing the priestess as she continued her litany of how those who die in service of their king would find their way to their Maker. The elf shook her head, turning fully toward the human. "I cannot abide it. It seems too much…"

"Hypocrisy?" Adrian offered with a slight smile as his green eyes met hers.

Smiling at his understanding, she nodded her head. "I understand that the canto that speaks of Shartan and the elves assisting Andraste, being the only ones who remained by her side when she was betrayed, has been stricken from your Chant."

A blond brow rose at her knowledge, and the noble found himself nodding at her. "It was, indeed. When the Exalted March upon the Dales was called."

"No, when that Exalted March succeeded in, yet again, enslaving my people." She countered with a huff, turning back to grace the priestess with her scowl.

Adrian stood, his arms crossed, leaning in an almost casual stance against the tree, his intelligent, sharp green eyes fixed upon the scowling features of the elven woman. There was great bustle around them, soldiers praying, talking or otherwise preparing for the battles they all knew would occur. Elven messengers - he did not miss the careful way Say'reil watched the elves - scurrying about. One elf, a young boy with orange hair, scuttled passed them, heading toward the pavilion-like tents just beyond a great bonfire. The young noble straightened, his arms falling to his side, as he recognized the emblem emblazoned upon the side of one such tent.

A yellow wyvern.

Adrian straightened, his sharp gaze fixed upon the standard, his mind racing as plans formed therein.

"Would you mind terribly if I went to speak with someone I know?" The young man turned to Say'reil, who was now watching him with keen interest. She turned, retracing where his eyes had gone, spotting the tent.

"You know who resides in that tent?" she asked quietly, frowning, uncertain if she should let the young noble out of her sight.

Adrian nodded, stepping slightly nearer the woman. "Teyrn Loghain," he explained, understanding that it made no sense to lie to her.

He watched as her face relaxed slightly as she considered his request. Of the wardens he had met, Say'reil seemed the more personable and understanding of his plight, what little of it she knew. He only hoped that she would allow him this moment to speak with someone who may prove an ally to him.

She sighed, obviously having come to a decision. "You can go speak with your friend," she allowed, frowning slightly at the man. "However, you must rejoin me here, and soon." She straightened, still watching the Teyrn's tent. "If you try to run off…" she warned, turning back to the noble.

"You'll turn me into a toad?" he quipped smartly, allowing his face to relax as he joked at the woman. A certain sense of satisfaction came over the young man as he watched a chestnut colored eyebrow twitch at the first hint of genuine humor he had displayed since their meeting. He quickly squashed that feeling down; it had no place within him until he found his way out of the Grey Wardens.

Until the blood of the Howe family dripped from his blade.

Smirking, she answered, "At the very least," allowing a twitch of her full lips at the remark.

The noble paused, uncertain if Dalish mages, who knew magic beyond what the Chantry sanctioned for the mages ensconced with the Tower walls, really could change someone into a toad. Deciding he truly did not want to test her, Adrian gave a mock bow and turned toward Loghain's tent.

DA:O

Loghain steepled his fingers before his face, bending his head downward slightly as he studied the maps strewn out across the wide table. The map that currently occupied his attention was one drawn up of the proposed battlefield of Ostagar. He scowled at the area where Cailan and the Grey Wardens were to assemble, his eyes tracing to the area slightly to the west where he and his army would await to crush the darkspawn between them.

Given the victories thus far, the king was more than optimistic that their fortune would continue, and had even voiced his hope of the Archdemon making an appearance.

Given their victories thus far, the more experienced soldier that was Loghain was certain that they were testing their luck.

And, as much as he hated to admit it, it would seem that Duncan, Commander of the Grey Wardens, agreed with Loghain's assessment.

Not that Cailan would listen. Despite his near worship of the secretive order, he refused to listen as the Commander suggested they await reinforcements from Orlais.

That, actually, had been the sole decision regarding the Grey Wardens that Loghain agreed with Cailan about. No need giving any armed force from Orlais permission to tread upon Ferelden soil. To give them that foothold they had been seeking since Loghain and Maric had sent them skittering across the borders thirty years prior.

He was still scowling at the map when the guard outside his tent called to the Teyrn, advising that a young lord requested permission to enter.

Rubbing a calloused hand across his eyes, Loghain rose, instructing the guard to allow the young man within.

There were hushed voices as the guard instructed the noble to enter, and Loghain turned to the opening, watching as a nearly familiar figure pushed through the tent's flap to stand before the Teyrn.

The face of the young man was familiar to him, although it had matured in the year since last he had seen Adrian Cousland. The boy favored his mother, he thought, taking in the sharp features and green eyes. His size, however, came from Bryce. Although his youngest son towered over him, Bryce had been a very tall man.

The Teyrn frowned as he considered his thoughts in the past tense. He had heard that Cousland Castle had been attacked, and that it was believed all within had been slain. Fergus Cousland had left for the Wilds just before word had reached the King via the Commander of the Grey, Duncan. Cailan had mentioned something, but had not gone into detail as he relayed what he had heard to Loghain.

That frown deepened into his famous Loghain scowl, as Maric had called it. Howe had tried to convince him that the Couslands had been working against Ferelden, consorting with the Orlesians. To this day, he found it hard to believe. Bryce and Eleanor Cousland had fought valiantly against the invaders, and merely sought to open trade routes to further enrich Fereldan. Those trade routes included other nations other than Orlais.

If he found out that Howe had acted without consulting him or the throne…

He pushed those thoughts aside as he continued his study of young Adrian's face. He recalled that his was a face more used to smiles and laughter, the lines around the young man's mouth and eyes a testimony to that. However, the man who stood before him bore little resemblance to that young man. His eyes were hard as emeralds, having lost the shine that had caught the eye of many women - including his own daughter, Anora. His lips were pulled into a hard line, his normally expressive features tight and still as stone. There was anger there, something that Loghain could well identify with. With a nod, the elder noble indicated the younger man take a seat, and, settling down in his own, waved the Cousland to speak.

DA:O

"You what?" Darrian asked when he later found Say'reil leaning against a stone marker, watching the tent that was Teyrn Loghain's.

"I let him go speak to someone he knew," the Dalish mage explained carefully, frowning at the tone of voice the male elf used with her. "Do not worry, I've been watching…"

"And if he chooses to use your…soft heartedness to make good his escape?" he demanded, turning his face to watch the tent.

_How dare_…"Do not use that tone of voice with me, Darrian Tabris," the Dalish woman said haughtily. "My tutor never used such a tone, and I shall not accept it from you!" She poked a long finger into his leather clad chest, stranding straight in her anger.

Darrian blinked, turning his gaze back to the irate elven woman. "But why would you agree…?"

She shook her head, motioning to the tent. "I presume that your human nobles know each other. When he asked - nicely, I might add - to speak with one he knew, I saw no reason not to allow him to do so." A frown marred her features. "Do not your human nobles know each other?"

Scoffing, Darrian scowled at her. "How should I know? I have a hard enough time keeping track of elven nobles!"

Taken aback by his sarcasm, Say'reil was not about to let that bit slide by. Turning a steady glare to the other elf, she retorted, "I beg your pardon?" She returned his scowl tenfold. "May I remind you that _I_ am a noble among our people?"

In her anger, she let some of her magic flow between her hands, a dramatic show of her power and rank among the Dalish. Realizing he had sorely insulted her, Darrian raised his hands, his eyes watching as Teyrn Loghain returned to the tent, an angry scowl upon his face.

"I'm sorry, Say'reil," he humbly apologized, bowing his head slightly, making certain she could not take it as further slur against her. "I keep forgetting that your people have kept track of our heritage."

Letting out a sigh, for she truly did not like fighting Darrian, Say'reil's eyes watched as the tent flap closed after Loghain had entered. "I, too, apologize. I should not allow my temper to get the better of me." Her eyes squinted. "And they are not just _my _people, Darrian. They are _your _people as well." She shrugged, waving her arm to encompass the camp. "Being here, among so many humans, listening to the lies that spew forth from their priests…my nerves and temper are on edge."

Chuckling, Darrian said, "You really do not like the Chantry, do you?"

Shaking her head, she lifted her head as two figures appeared in the opening to Loghain's tent, moving to stand at the ramp just behind Loghain's tent. "No." She turned her uncanny purple eyes to the elven male. "And neither should you."

DA:O

Adrian leaned against the stone column support of the ancient, crumbling stairway, staring at the elder man. A frown marred the younger man's face as he stared at the man who had been his father's contemporary. Although he knew well that neither man could truly have called the other 'friend', they had been allies on more than one occasion during Landsmeets, and Adrian hoped now for some of the alliship to roll over to him.

Loghain stared at the younger man, then nodded his dark head in sympathy. He had always thought that the younger Cousland had great potential - either leading Highever's armies or going to Denerim in service of the King. Now the young man found himself conscripted into the Grey Wardens. And, as much as Loghain would love to work against the order, he knew that no one - not noble, king or chantry - could reverse a conscription. Now that Adrian had made it to Ostagar, and Duncan had had the opportunity to record the conscription, the young man's options were played through.

If only Adrian had managed to kill Duncan en route to Ostagar. Then all of their problems would have been resolved.

"I am sorry, young Cousland," the Teyrn stated with great sympathy. "It would seem that even a promise made under duress is binding when it comes to the Grey Wardens. And no one can undo their right of conscription once same has been made." he placed a large hand upon the young man's broad shoulder. "I am sorry."

Adrian frowned. Loghain had been his one hope to get out of service beside the vile Grey Wardens. And now that route was closed off. His green eyes scanned the camp, narrowing slightly when he spied the slender form of the female elf who had escorted him to Ostagar. Curious, Loghain watched the man's attention shift, and followed the path of his gaze. He watched as the elven woman, her tattooed face turned downward as she listened to something the taller elven man beside her said, nod, her gaze lifting, seeking out something - or someone - in the camp. Her eyes paused briefly over Loghain's form, settling to rest upon Adrian's slouched figure. She said something to the elven male, and, with a nod, began to make her way in their direction. Loghain noticed that the young man straightened somewhat, but the petulant frown remained.

Patting the younger Cousland once more upon the shoulder, Loghain said, "We shall speak more," he promised. Then, when the young man gave him an answering nod, the Teyrn stepped away, determined to find the King and go over strategy.

DA:O

The young lord grimaced down at the putrid body of the darkspawn, carefully wiping his blade clean on the cloth offered by the young warden, Alistair. Adrian straightened, handing the vial off to the warden, surveying the area, skimming over the bodies of the soldiers they had come upon. These men wore the livery of the Fereldan army, and not of Highever. Wherever his brother went off scouting, it was not this area.

Or so the young noble hoped.

Daveth was complaining, again, as he bent over the body of the darkspawn he had just gutted, filling his vial with the black ichor that was its blood. Ser Jory looked amazingly pale and pallid as he handed off his vial to Alistair. Focusing upon the Denerim rogue's words, Adrian realized that the man was taunting the knight of Redcliffe his weak constitution. Chuckling, Adrian stalked nearer the rest of the group, his own opinion of the knight fully in line with that of the rogue's.

Alistair merely shook his head at the other man, advising that Adrian take the lead.

"Why him, I wonder," Daveth put in as he sheathed his blades to sidle up behind the group to walk beside the young warden. "Why don't you take the lead, my fine warden friend?"

Frowning, Alistair shook his red-blond head. "I'm here to keep things moving along," he advised as he surveyed the area around them. "Advise when darkspawn are nearby, that sort of thing. I'm watching how you all handle yourselves against the darkspawn."

"And then you go and tell ol' Duncan how good a job we've done, right?" Daveth persisted, grinning at the two warriors stalking ahead of them.

"Something like that," Alistair acknowledged.

"Rightio!" Daveth clapped a hand to the larger man's shoulder, grimacing at the sturdy muscle beneath the splint mail armor. With a wide grin, the rogue slipped into the shadows, vanishing from sight.

Shaking his head, chuckling slightly, Alistair followed after the others, making certain they headed in the direction of the archives.

DA:O

Daveth lay dead from the joining; Ser Jory in a pool of his own blood due to his cowardice. Alistair glanced over at the still unconscious form of the nobleman, and admitted to mixed feelings about this occurrence.

He had doubted Ser Jory's ability to survive the joining, but had been surprised by his blatant cowardly behavior. Daveth succumbing to the darkspawn blood mixture had surprised the young warden, and, from the way Duncan's eyes would glance back to where the rogue's body had lain, Alistair was certain Duncan had been surprised as well.

_At least one of them survived_, Alistair thought, frowning down at the noble's still form. Mixed feelings aside, Alistair was glad that at least one of the new recruits had survived. That made three skilled new wardens. His eyes traced back to the empty spaces where the bodies had been. Although five would have been better…

Shaking his head, he cleared away such thoughts. The Wardens took whomever they could: strong warriors, talented mages, skilled rogues…Alistair's head shifted slightly, watching Duncan, who stood, hands clasped behind his back as his sharp eyes scanned over the encampment. He wondered if Duncan would allow him to finally engage in the next battle…

DA:O

For some reason, King Cailan was insistent that Say'reil and Adrian accompany Duncan to the war council held shortly after Adrian's joining. The young noble scowled. He had no desire to listen as the fool king extolled the virtues of the wardens. His head hurt terribly, and his scowl deepened. As they made their way to the council area, Say'reil raised a hand alight with blue magic. He flinched away slightly as she pressed her fingertips to his forehead, and he felt her healing magic sweep over him, and his headache dissipated. Gracing her with a genuine smile of gratitude, noting the smug smile she cast toward Duncan's back, the young noble continued to walk to where the king stood with the rest of his war council.

The 'war council' consisted of King Cailan, Teyrn Loghain, Duncan, a mage of advanced middle years and a wizened priestess the young noble recognized as Ferelden's Grand Cleric. What she was doing here was a puzzle to the young man.

He could not miss the near worshipful expression that crossed Cailan's golden features as Duncan spoke to him in quiet tones. He most certainly did not miss the hostile scowl the priestess shot Say'reil. He had to give the Dalish mage credit, she most certainly had noticed the hostile expression but did not flinch nor lower herself to returning that scowl. Given their conversation earlier regarding Say'reil's lack of appreciation for the Chantry, Adrian felt she was certainly handling the situation quite well.

Adrian listened, intently, as the King went on and on about the glory of the Grey Wardens, and how fortunate they were to have them by their side. Cailan then turned his attention to Adrian, seeming to see the younger man for the first time.

"Ah," Cailan said, smirking slightly at the petulant glare the young nobleman cast him. "This is the young Lord from Highever." Adrian bit back a sneer. Of course Cailan knew him; he was being obstinate. "I hear congratulations are in order."

The very idolized tone in the fool's voice set Adrian's teeth on edge, and he barely could contain a sneer as the angry words came out as a mutter. "It is not as though I had a choice." He cast an angry glare at Duncan , who stood impassively by his side.

"None of us do," Cailan said, completely missing the point of Adrian's complaint. "You should feel honored to be in the order of Grey Wardens."

"Oh, honored indeed," Adrian could not help but sneer into the fool's face. "How honored that as my father, Teyrn Bryce Cousland, lay in a pool of his blood he had to promise the sole surviving heir of Highever to an order that can only garner membership by coercion." He smiled at the astonished look that crossed Cailan's face, completely missing the approving nod from Loghain. "I am indeed so honored, _Your Majesty_."

He heard Say'reil gasp slightly at his obstinacy, but continued to glare at the king. Duncan shifted slightly, offering an apology to Cailan, casting a scathing glare toward the ill-tempered noble. But the king merely waved Duncan's words away, his blue eyes settled upon Adrian's angered features.

"I understand," the young king said softly, the delirious joy at fighting beside the Wardens dulled now to genuine concern. "Bryce and Eleanor Cousland were great supporters of the throne, and ardent defenders of Ferelden." Cailan stood taller, his face changing to that of a king as he declared. "Once we have defeated the darkspawn here, I shall turn my armies south, and we shall, together, crush the army of Arl Howe and bring the Arl to justice."

He took a step forward, ignoring completely Loghain, Duncan, Say'reil, the Grand Cleric and the fool mage, who all stood watching the exchange. Adrian's green eyes followed the older man as Cailan stood before him. Then, the king placed a hand over his heart, bowing over it slightly. "Howe shall not profit from his treachery, and I shall personally see to it that he hangs from the gallows at Highever. Thus, I so swear."

Adrian's face softened, and he nodded, bowing deeply to the young king. "My thanks, King Cailan. I, as surviving heir to Highever, hereby claim blood rights against the Howe family," he said with more respect in his voice than Duncan had heard there prior, offering a glimpse into the man Adrian Cousland had been before Howe's treachery. "If justice is meted against the Howe family, I shall do my duty and fight diligently at the side of the Grey Wardens."

Smiling slightly, Cailan nodded. "Seems like a fair trade indeed." Then, clapping his gauntleted hands together, the young king turned back to the map, motioning for Loghain to step nearer as they went over strategy.

A soft hand brushed against his arm, and Adrian was startled to see the sympathetic expression upon Say'reil's face. With a nod, he turned back to the others, listening as they set out their plans.

After some time had passed, and much discussion on the battle itself, a decision regarding the lighting of the beacon atop the Tower of Ishal had come about. The bald mage, Uldred, suggested using magic, to which the Grand Cleric, of course, objected strenuously. Cailan, a thoughtful expression upon his boyishly handsome face, suggested Alistair and Say'reil.

Say'reil, however, offered up her own objections. "Truly, Your Majesty, but should not another do so?" She turned to Duncan, who was watching her with interest. "After all, Duncan, you inducted me into the Grey Wardens to use my magic against darkspawn. It makes no sense to now keep me from the battle."

Adrian was certain he heard the cleric hiss out "apostate", but wisely kept silent. If Say'reil was going to pretend to not hear the woman's hatefulness, then he would wisely do so.

Regardless that Say'reil did not seek a confrontation with the Chantry's head, the Grand Cleric did.

"It is well established that the Grey Wardens are a refuge for criminals and apostates, Commander," the elderly priestess seethed, glaring at the young elf. "But to allow one to accompany you to this meeting?"

"It was I that requested her presence, Your Eminence," Cailan quickly interposed himself into the situation, casting an apologetic look at the lovely elven woman.

The Grand Cleric turned her softened glare to the king. "Why, may I ask?"

The king merely shrugged. "A differing perspective is always welcome, wouldn't you agree? She comes to us from the Dalish, as skilled warriors as any that walk upon Thedas' surface. She may see something we may miss."

Everyone ignored the scoff from Loghain, and Adrian merely raised an eyebrow at the elder noble. Say'reil, for her part, kept her amusement carefully hidden behind an impassive mask. She would not rise to the bait.

Yet…

The bald mage behind the cleric merely raised amused eyebrows. Cailan and Duncan, however, were not amused. Adrian gathered from the slight shifting of her feet, Say'reil was not as oblivious to the human woman's hatred as she would like to appear and a glance to Loghain found that the Teyrn was not amused either as the priestess continued to voice her displeasure.

"Enough!" Cailan ordered, scowling fiercely at the woman who was head of the Chantry in Ferelden. "Grey Wardens battle darkspawn, wherever they may be from. That we have one of Dalish heritage and skill only enhances our ability against the darkspawn."

The priestess merely scoffed. "We have no need for their heathen magic, Your Majesty…"

"Actually, yes we do," Duncan interfered. "Mages have always been essential in our battles against Blights. It has been our experience that, without their magic, darkspawn incursions and Blights last far longer than is necessary."

"Surely you over exaggerate the need for mages," The Grand Cleric turned her attention fully to the Commander, taking her ire with her and away from Say'reil.

But Duncan shook his head. "Not at all, Your Eminence," he gestured slightly to Say'reil. "The Dalish have always managed to subdue any darkspawn they happen upon, using the magics handed down to them throughout the millennia. We are most fortunate to have that magic working with us as well."

"Blood magic!" the priestess hissed, and it was then that Say'reil became active in the conversation.

"Not true," the elf hissed back. "The Elvhenan have never resorted to blood magic. That magic was used solely by the humans of the Tevinter Empire, and any elves that use it now are those who seek freedom from the Chantry's leash…"

"Heretic!" The priestess was seething, but Say'reil would not back down.

"Why? Because we do not recognize the Chantry? Or because we do not adhere to the lies you have perpetuated against my people since humans set foot upon Thedas?" The elf countered with reason against the priestess's zealous.

The priestess glared at the elf, but Say'reil continued, her voice calm, as though giving a lesson. "The elves of ancient Arlathan used magic that the human magi wished to learn. 'Twas the Imperium that brought blood magic to us. To this day, the People of the Dales do not use blood magic, as doing so only dishonors the memories of our ancestors, enslaved by humans throughout the histories." She stood straighter, staring directly into the priestess's hateful glare. "The People of the Dales do not make pacts with demons."

"Please, Your Eminence," Duncan interrupted, pleased that his new warden was not rising to the bait and turning this into a full out war of words. "We have more important matters to discuss."

The Grand Cleric blinked, turning her attention to the man. After a moment's pause, she nodded, settling back as the warriors returned their discussion back to the battle.

The Commander of the Grey turned his thoughtful gaze upon the young elf. Then, with a nod, he replied, "You are correct, Say'reil."

"Duncan…" Cailan started but Duncan shook his head.

"Alistair and Alim shall go to the tower," Duncan spared a look to Say'reil. "Alim is a mage, but young and inexperienced in battle. His magic should suffice should they encounter any resistance at the tower." He turned his attention to the two wardens beside him. "Say'reil and Adrian shall both, along with Warden Darrian, remain by my and King Cailan's side during the battle." Both junior wardens seemed surprised by the Commander's decision, but neither said anything, merely nodding their assent. Adrian's eyes sought out Loghain's, appearing deep in thought. He noticed the young noble's attention upon him, and returned it, nodding slightly at the young man.

"Splendid!" Cailan clapped his hands together, pleased with the progress they were making, missing the interaction between the Cousland noble and Loghain. "I cannot wait for that glorious moment. The Grey Wardens battle beside the King of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil." His grin was wide and brilliant. "Glorious!"

"Yes, Cailan," Loghain responded as he turned from the table. "A glorious moment for us all."


	12. Chapter 12

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_Beyond Sylvan Paths_

_Chapter 12_

Adrian leaned against the stone pillar, watching as Alistair and Alim spoke with Duncan, Say'reil watching closely from her position at Duncan's side. The ex-templar was obviously very upset at being given such a task as lighting the beacon, and Adrian had to carefully disguise his own amusement with a carefully placed scowl. Say'reil was now speaking with Alistair, her face upturned slightly to watch his eyes. The young man said something that Adrian could not make out, but both elves burst out with laughter, Say'reil responding with obvious humor.

A crunch to the side warned the young warrior of an approach, and he turned his head slightly, watching as the dark elf, Darrian, marched to his side.

"So, Alistair's not taking the news too well, is he?" the elven warrior quipped as he stood, feet slightly apart, his arms across his chest.

Shaking his head, the human turned his attention away from the elf without another word, watching as the male elven mage and Alistair went off to their tents. Say'reil exchanged a few words with Duncan, and then turned, walking toward the two men.

"Ali's not happy, eh?" Darrian joked, a smirk on his handsome features as he watched the young human male tromp off in a huff, Alim at his side, grinning up at the taller human.

Shaking her head, her chestnut curls bouncing along her shoulders, the Dalish mage said, "No. Not even in the slightest. He seems to think that he's being punished or some such nonsense."

"He's more than likely one of those fools who thinks that battle is _glorious_," Adrian snarked, scowling over at the retreating back of the man in question. "Rather like our king, I would think."

The two elves exchanged glances. "You do not think much of your king, do you?" Say'reil asked as she adjusted the collar of her armor, brushing away an imaginary flake of dust.

Turning to watch her with intense green eyes, the young noble shook his head. "Not at all. He is not taking this battle seriously, regardless of what he may have said at the council."

Darrian frowned, turning to Say'reil, who merely shrugged. While she agreed that Cailan seemed a bit vain glorious, she had not gleamed anything from the council that suggested that Cailan was not taking the darkspawn seriously.

"How can you say that?" Say'reil pressed, truly curious.

Adrian shrugged his broad shoulders, turning his attention back to the elven woman. "The king should not be on the front lines. That is the first mistake. I am rather surprised that our great warden commander is allowing it. Add to that the Grey Wardens are acting as a vanguard to the king. They should be ahead of the main force, where their supposed benefits against the darkspawn can be put to better use, to decimate as many of those cursed things as possible before they reach the main hoard. But, instead, we all play nursemaid to the boy-king."

A dark brow rose, and Darrian scowled slightly. "Grey Wardens do have many…benefits against the darkspawn, which you will learn of soon enough." The elf met the noble's scowl with a fierce one of his own. "The first benefit we have is an immunity to the taint itself. As you are already aware."

Nodding his blond head, Adrian continued to scowl. "We're not immune," he scoffed. "We've been given the poison to slow its affects down. Nothing more."

Before Darrian could say anymore, Say'reil stepped in. "_Gentlemen_," both pairs of eyes - blue and green - turned her way. "Why don't you two take this time before the battle to get prepared." Her purple eyes settled upon Darrian's dark face, then moved to Adrian's. "We will be fighting by Duncan's - and the King's - sides." She reminded them. With a final look, she turned, marching to her tent to follow her own advice.

Both men watched as the Dalish woman disappeared into the depths of her tent. Turning, they stood, glaring at one another for a moment before each moved along to gather their own equipment and make themselves ready for the upcoming battle.

DA:O

It arrived too fast, amid driving rain and torrents of air. Sharp schisms of light cut through the blackened air as thunder rolled and vibrated the ground.

They had prepared all through the days, and still, once the time had come to meet the enemy, it had seemed too soon, and they unprepared despite their preparations.

Alim and Alistair stood side by side, the small elven mage clutching his staff in white knuckled hands. A white line appeared around his full lips, and Say'reil found herself stifling the urge to put her arms around the younger elf, to assure him that he would perform his assigned task admirably. Alistair stood nearby, glancing down to his partner, resolute and strong, certain as he listened to the final instructions from Duncan.

"Maker watch over you, Duncan," Alistair offered as his final words to his mentor.

A small smile crossed the Commander's stern features, and he reached over, patting the younger man reassuringly upon one broad shoulder. "Maker watch over you as well, Alistair."

With a nod, the pair jogged off, making their way to the Tower of Ishal to perform their task of lighting the beacon.

He watched them as they turned a corner, then turned to the three young wardens standing nearby, awaiting to accompany him to the battlefield. His eyes went first to Darrian's features, set and resolute as always before a battle.

The elven warrior stood straight and tall, his shield set upon his back, his long sword and dagger sheathed at his hips. His black leather armor appeared newly cleaned and oiled, and Duncan suppressed a smirk at that. The elf always took great pride in his appearance, in his armor and, most importantly, his weapons. He may well be heading to battle against filthy darkspawn, and would soon be wading amid mud and blood. But he would enter the battle with clean and prepared weapons and armor.

Say'reil appeared much as she always did, bow slung easily over one shoulder, her matching daggers sheathed at her hips. Dressed in soft Dalish leather, the only outward indication that she was a mage had to be the bladed staff she carried in her hand. Although proficient with the more mundane weapons, the Dalish mage felt it necessary to have the added spell power of her staff. Duncan knew that, as a Dalish trained mage, she had little use for the staff as a focus of her own power. However, the lyrium runes that graced the length of the impressive weapon spoke of a power of its own.

Satisfied, Duncan turned his gaze to the human warrior.

Sullen and quiet, Adrian stood tall in his silverite armor, the laurel leaves of Highever emblazoned upon his chest. The great sword he preferred was slung across his back, and at his hips rested a long sword and dagger. The young man, albeit scowling at the Commander, seemed ready and at ease as they awaited taking their positions by the king.

With a final glance around, Duncan nodded to the three young wardens, bidding they follow him.

DA:O

The agile elf skipped around the corner, out pacing the heavier - and heavily laden - human easily. A smirk crossed his full lips as he turned his head to offer a less than complimentary comment to his companion. Then, he stumbled, a human soldier almost barreling right into him, forcing him back and almost to the ground. Strong hands caught him under his shoulders, keeping him from falling flat on his back on the cold, hard marble of the steps. Surprised, he looked up into the full smirk of his companion.

"Gotta watch where you are going, Alim," Alistair scolded as he set the elven mage upright. "The soldiers," he swept a long, muscled arm out encompassing the archers, officers, and ballista men the lined the causeway. "won't be keeping their eyes open for a runaway elf."

Chuckling, Alim carefully brushed his new armor - soft leather - down with a slender hand, shrugging slightly. "Well, it's a good thing I've such a strong and able companion to watch over me." The smile he bestowed upon said companion caused Alistair to flush slightly.

"Come on," Alistair said, his voice slightly gruff as he gave his elven friend a slight nudge. "We have to get to the Tower of Ishal if we want to light the beacon on time."

"Lead the way," Alim gestured forward, grinning at his friend. With a shake of his red-gold head, Alistair started off at a brisk jog, glancing back to be certain his smaller companion could match pace.

DA:O

Darkness fell, harder and faster than the driving rain that pelted the warriors as they stood amidst the ruins of the ancient Tevinter fortress. Standing to Duncan's right, between and slightly behind him and the king, who traded words of encouragement, the Dalish mage's dark amethyst eyes scanned over the heads of the warriors and rogues assembled slightly below the group. She could sense Darrian standing behind the king, and a slow turn of her head showed where Adrian stood to the left of Duncan. Both men were watching the king and Warden Commander, and as she turned her head back to the battlefield, she noticed the Cousland noble's green eyes turn to her.

The soldiers shifted, nervously, as hushed voices rose in the heavy air. The mabari warhounds pawed anxiously at the dirt, snuffling at the hound master, waiting patiently as veterans for the battle to begin.

Dark, whispering sounds ahead brought all heads forward, Duncan's sharp, dark eyes narrowing slightly as he peered into the gloom. Cailan's bright blues widened as he sought to seek the source of the noise.

The hounds raised their great muzzles, barring teeth. One, the pack leader, raised his great head to sniff the air, a great rumbling in his chest.

The whispering sounds grew louder, closer. And soon the whispers - soft and hushed - grew into deep rumblings. Snarls and chuckles, dark and malignant, rose in the air, and Say'reil felt her chest clench in fear as she recognized the sounds.

The very sounds that had erupted from the broken mirror; the one that had taken Tamlen from this world.

Soldiers shuffled nervously, some shaking their heads, backing away from the battlefield. Officers and sergeants snarled out in low tones to the men and women to keep their positions. These soldiers were Fereldan, and they stood their ground, peering deeper into the darkness, brushing the driving rain from their eyes as the first dark, shadowy forms of their foes melted from the gloom.

Great, heavy trembling waked across the ground, foretelling of the invading army of evil that followed.

Gasps arose as the ground continued to shake, vibrating up the legs of the warriors who stood in wait. The mabari pack leader's head rose, this time leveling out a great bay. The other hounds answered the summons of their leader, snarls rising from thick throats, teeth barred in anticipation of the rending. The great beasts remained, however, awaiting the command of their human master. But the anticipation of the battle grew.

Say'reil gripped her staff, bringing forth spells as she felt the magic contained with her bladed stave come to life. The human king startled slightly as the lyrium runes along the staff's length began to glow.

Behind them, Darrian let out a low whistle of appreciation as the mage's weapon sprang to life.

Time slowed, suddenly to speed to life as the dark shapes of the darkspawn - hurlock and genlock - burst into full view, startling many of the soldiers upon the battlefield ahead. The pounding of their feet upon the sodden ground beat a cadence that the young warden could feel at her core.

Cailan called out to the archers, and the bow master raised his arm, signaling for the archers to nock their arrows, pulling the bowstrings tight, pointing into the air. Each bowman tensed, the master's arm raised as he carefully watched the approaching horde.

Great ogres stomped through the mass of smaller darkspawn, crushing many under their feet as they raised their heads to bellow out their great war cries. With a shout, the bow master abruptly lowered his arm, and the arrows, blazing with fire runes, burst into the air, a fiery rainfall upon the invaders. With shrieks and grunts many of the front line darkspawn fell, screaming out in their agony as the fire ate through the tough boiled leather to the blackened flesh beneath.

Many arrows found homes within the flesh of the behemoths that were the ogres, but they shrugged them off, their bellows echoing through the trees.

Darrian tensed, his blades in hand as he moved to the king's side, his blue eyes scanning, already picking out targets. Adrian moved closer to the elven mage, his greatsword out. For Say'reil's part, she kept her senses alert, ears perked for the command from Duncan to let loose a volley of spells. A tightness rose, constricting her chest as fear threatened to overwhelm her. She shook her head to clear the muffling of her ears, and Cailan gave a shout to loose the hounds.

With a growl, the hound master set his beasts of war upon the approaching horde, the warhounds' growls rising to mingle with the grunts and hisses of the genlocks that formed the front lines. Many of the hounds rammed into the genlocks' legs, knocking them to the ground as they spun about to tear throats. Cries of anguish and agony erupted as the hurlocks ripped into the noble beasts, spilling their entrails as they fell, motionless, to the sodden earth.

With a final cry of "For Ferelden!" Cailan set the country's gathered armies against the onslaught of tainted beasts.

DA:O

He stumbled, again, to the hard cobbled causeway. The soldiers were racing around them as Alistair stood, protectively, over his smaller comrade as Alim struggled to his feet. Cries from the battle below could be heard, and the elven mage could sense the human warden with him tense. With a quick, precursory glance, Alistair resumed his trot across the bridge, Alim close on his heels.

Archers bent over the crumbling walls, firing into the masses below. Strong men piled rocks and tar and pitch into the baskets of the catapults, setting them ablaze before quickly releasing them.

Return volley came from their foes, and Alistair had to stop, pivoting on his heel, nearly tossing Alim ahead of him and out of the way of the burning mass of tar that roiled over the walls, crashing into the soldiers that frantically tried to get out of the devastation. Screams of agony as the tar flowed over limbs and bodies, burning the soldiers alive rose. With a sickened grimace, Alistair rushed to the elf, pulling him once again to his feet, leading him from the bridge and to the path that led to the Tower.

The tall spires of the ancient tower rose high above them, flying buttresses curved around and flowed upwards, almost untouched by time. Alim craned his neck to scan to the very tip. Despite its age, despite the centuries of neglect and abandonment, the tower was still beautiful, even against the bleak, black sky.

Lightening flashed, illuminating the tower against the stark sky. The pair of young wardens rushed up the ramp, stopping as a pair of soldiers raced towards them, calling out for them to help.

The darkspawn had infiltrated the defenses around the tower.

Witty and dry humored, Alistair quipped that they needed to get the tower and stop the darkspawn. Alim found himself rolling his large eyes at his companion, smirking at the bravado so evident in the senior junior warden's voice. Alistair waggled his eyebrows at the elf before leading all four of them toward the tower.

DA:O

Magic coursed along her arms, sparks dancing as she sent her magic arcing into the air, slamming into the forms of the hurlock nearby, sending them dancing crazily along the ground before slumping, dead, to the blood and rain drenched earth. Exhaustion found its way into her muscles, along her joints, but she forced more magic through her body, a hand releasing its grasp upon her staff to hunt down a vial of lyrium from the pouch hanging at her hip. A blast of cold shot from her staff, felling an onrushing genlock. With her thumb, she uncorked the vial, tipping to allow the cooling liquid to flow down her throat. Almost immediately she felt rejuvenated, and straightened, tossing the empty glass vial to the ground as her eyes sought out the next target.

Blood washed through the air as the elf's sword and dagger ripped through the tough hide of the hurlock warrior before him, roaring at the warden as it swung its axe at him. Nimbly he dodged aside, smirking at the darkspawn as he twisted around, driving the dagger deep into its side, erupting a kidney as he gave it a savage twist. Black, bile laden blood gushed from the wound as he tore it free, kicking the creature away as he turned to rush to the king's side.

Adrian had stepped away from the spell casting elf, his greatsword sweeping out in great arcs, easily beheading the onrushing hurlock. Glancing to be certain he was well beyond where the Dalish mage stood, her face scrunched up in concentration, the nobleman lunged forward, rushing a particularly huge hurlock that raced toward him, a guttural snarl upon its lips. A bloodthirsty grin pinned to his face, the warrior suddenly kicked out with his lead foot, connecting with the darkspawn's kneecap, easily shattering it. The snarl turned into a cry of agony as the creature suddenly found itself upon its knees, the warden's greatsword angling downward to slice into its neck. The head bounced free, and Adrian turned, his eyes scanning for his next target.

DA:O

Fear lanced through the elven mage's chest as he took stock of their situation. What was to have been an easy assignment was now a life or death struggle to reach the tower's pinnacle and light the beacon.

Several hurlock and genlock filled the great chamber, and the elf paused, trying to calm his fraying nerves and call forth a fire blast spell to disable the approaching darkspawn. Alistair led the other two warriors and the elf watched in abject horror as a fiery explosion rocked the room, tossing him to his back as flames engulfed the three warriors. He heard Alistair snarl and the others cry out in pain. Frantically he pushed himself to his feet, wobbling slightly as he regained his balance. Without a thought, he managed to assess the damage to the warriors and cast a healing spell over the guard who was more seriously injured than the others. Shouting out for the other two to take a healing potion, the mage readied his staff, gingerly leaving the protected alcove he had been in, to join the fray.

Now he really was wondering just how bad Tranquility would have been.

After all, at least he would still be the most beautiful of elven males around.

The fires had dissipated quickly once the fuel had been burned away, and Alim was able to spot the sole spell casting darkspawn in their midst. The genlock emissary faced off against Alistair, and the mage watched as the tall human sent out a blast of white light, thoroughly smiting the darkspawn mage. Grinning, he sent forth a blast of cold against a nearby hurlock, glad as he saw Alistair heft his blade and lunge at the stunned emissary and obligingly remove its horrid head from its body.

The darkspawn in the main entry chamber all fell to sword and spell, and Alim could not contain the bout of laughter that had threatened to overtake him. Nervousness, most certainly, ran its course through his slender frame, escaping in a near hysterical roar of laughter that caused both soldiers to stare at each other, perplexed. Alistair, however, stepped closer, hovering over the much smaller elven man, allowing him a moment to let his hysteria to run its course. The elf appreciated it, and managed to get a hold of himself, nodding as he straightened, wiping his streaming eyes with the back of his hand.

"Sorry," he muttered, swallowing before straightening up, griping his staff in his slender hands. He looked up, face still flushed. "We should probably get to the pinnacle."

Nodding his concurrence, Alistair led the way through the room and into the next chambers.

DA:O

Her strength was waning, and yet she continued to throw all of the spells she had at the hoard, even as she uncorked and consumed her last vial of lyrium.

Somehow, through her own foolishness, she had become separated from Duncan and King Cailan. Of Darrian and Adrian she had no notion of where they were either.

Dark eyes glanced upwards, hoping to spy the brilliant red flames that indicated Alistair and Alim had been successful in their mission.

Only darkness greeted her eyes.

She was lightheaded and jittery along her limbs. She cursed, wishing she had learned more magic at the tutelage of Marethari, but she had not had the luxury of time. Had she and Tamlen not found the Creators' cursed mirror…she shook her dark head, bringing her bladed staff up and around, cutting a wide gash along the raised sword arm of the hurlock that bore down upon her. Stumbling back, she brought her weapon around for another swing, but the darkspawn knocked her down with a blow from the pommel of his sword. Her reserves spent, she desperately pulled a dagger free, bringing it up to barely deflect the down sweeping blade.

There was a great war cry and the hurlock froze, stepping back with a snarl to meet its new foe. Her vision blurred, the elf scrambled back, struggling to her feet. The clash of blades brought her around, and she stood, breathing hard, trying to regain her balance and strength, as Adrian's greatsword pummeled the smaller darkspawn mercilessly. A snarl marred his handsome face as the warden brought his weapon up, smashing the heavy ball of the pommel deeply into the hurlock's face. Bones snapped and crunched beneath the heavy assault, and the thing fell, dead, to the ground.

The anger and hatred eased from his features as the huge human stalked to where the Dalish mage stood, hand to her side, as she tried to catch her breath and regain some strength. Concern etched heavily upon his features, he reached over with one hand, his sword held easily in the other, as he alternated between watching out for more foes and checking the woman for injuries.

"Are you alright?" he asked, feeling foolish in the question. Hadn't he just watched her be thrown to the ground by a heavier opponent?

But, she nodded her head, wiping a hand across her eyes. "You wouldn't happen to have any lyrium, would you?" she asked, taking the young man by surprise. A sheepish grin crossed his face as he shook his head in the negative.

"Didn't think so," she murmured as she hefted her staff. She could feel her mana return, but it was slow and unsteady. At least she could use her staff, even depleted of mana as she was.

"Where's Darrian?" she asked Adrian stepped away, scanning the area. Her own gaze followed his, and they surveyed the destruction that surrounded them, and continued.

His eyes were upon the battle, watching as one Ferelden soldier - bearing the arms of one of the minor banns - fell to the blades of numerous foes. His sight moved along, searching out the figure of their fellow Grey Warden, the dark elven warrior Say'reil had asked of.

Shaking his blond head, he turned his gaze back to hers. Disappointment, concern and fear marred her lovely face, but she gave her staff a gentle shake, akin to shaking herself. Looking up at her larger companion, she said, "Lead on. There must be more darkspawn to kill."

Blinking, his generous mouth spread into a wide grin as he turned, leading her from the protected alcove and deeper into the fray.

DA:O

Chamber after chamber, floor after floor, were filled with darkspawn. And each of the monsters were intent upon keeping the Grey Wardens from fulfilling their most important mission.

The four men each bore wounds reminding them of how, exactly, hard won each room, each floor had been. Whenever one of the warriors would fall, Alim would cast a healing spell upon him, and he would rise, once more, to engage the enemy. Only twice during their battle to the pinnacle of the tower had the young mage's magic not been enough to revive the fallen warrior, and, fortunately, once the battle ended and healing poultices and potions applied, the fallen warrior managed to regain his footing and continue onward.

Bent at the waist, Alistair glared upwards, his honey colored eyes scanning the stairs that would lead - hopefully - to the final chamber, the room where the beacon awaited. He glanced over at the two Ferelden soldiers, watching with great approval as each of them tightened their bandages and checked each others' weapons. Despite facing the final room, the fact that they had had to battle throughout a tower that had, supposedly, been guarded and watched to ensure was empty of all foes, made them especially cautious.

His gaze settled upon the slumping form of Alim. The young mage had never seen battle before, yet he was performing outstandingly well. Alistair knew that Alim had been self conscious of those times he had faltered or, in his mind, failed. However, having seen a few battles himself before this one, the young Warden could appreciate the difficulty the Circle raised mage faced. He displayed great courage and tenacity, and kept the three warriors on their feet. Alim's soft blue eyes lifted, meeting Alistair's own, a small smirk upon his lips.

DA:O

Sword and dagger worked in unison, keeping the other blade at bay. With a twist, the elven warrior twisted the darkspawn around, locking its blade with his sword as he brought his dagger beneath the darkspawn's guard, driving it deeply into its chest. With a snarl, the elf pushed the dying creature away. Taking a deep breath, he turned, both blades dripping blood from countless foes as his blue eyes sought out his commander.

Duncan fought sword and dagger style as did Darrian, but that was where their similarities in battle ended. Darrian was a warrior, using strength and agility to overpower his foes. Duncan was a rogue through and through, using speed and guile to keep his enemies unbalanced. He now fought against a pair of hurlocks, his sword meeting and turning aside one blade as his dagger dipped and dove at his second foe, scoring a hit across its arm. As Darrian came to a mind to go to his mentor's aid, he watched as Duncan's sword slashed across one darkspawn's throat, cutting into its jugular. Without watching as it bled out, Duncan turned his full attention to his second opponent.

Satisfied his commander had things well in hand, Darrian turned to meet an oncoming hurlock. Scowling at it, he raced toward it, meeting its own momentum with his own, his sword raised to chop down at the creature's head as his dagger dove in, poking at its chest. Off balanced, the hurlock twisted to the side, causing Darrian to stumbled passed it. Despite finding himself also off balanced, the elven warrior brought his sword out and around, scoring a glancing blow off the boiled leather of the hurlock's chest piece.

Grinning, the elf spun about, putting distance between himself and the creature. However, he had thought he had injured the darkspawn more than he had actually done, and the creature followed him closely, its sword stabbing out at his neck. The grin vanished, replaced by a concentrated grimace as he jerked his head back, flinging himself to the ground to avoid the potentially fatal blow.

Its own death mask grin upon its hideous face, the hurlock pressed its advantage, swinging its blade down at the prone elf. Kicking out with both feet, Darrian's foot connected with the creature's kneecap, shattering it. Stumbling to one knee, the hurlock roared in its pain and frustration, raising its blade in an effort to ward off any attack from the Warden. Grimacing, Darrian scrambled to his feet, staggering slightly, as he brought his sword to bear, stabbing outward into the hurlock's throat. Gurgling, grasping its neck tightly in clawed hands, the thing flopped to the ground as its life blood gushed from the wound.

The roar of something big caught the elf's attention, and the earth shook with heavy footsteps. He turned, startled at the sight of a huge ogre that rushed at them, smashing and batting soldiers away as it sought out the Grey Wardens ahead. The young warden noticed Duncan move to his side, both blades free in his hands as he braced his feet to meet the behemoth's onslaught. Taking a deep breath, the elven warden mimicked his commander's stance, pushing down the fear that rose in his throat.

Bracing himself, Duncan launched himself from the ground, sword and dagger raised, ready to drive deeply into the huge darkspawn's chest to secure him to its bulk. The ogre watched, its large eyes fixed upon the hurtling human. Then, with ease, the thing swatted the commander away, casting him to the side, to land, upon his left side, sliding in the blood soaked dirt until he stopped and did not move.

Growling at this, Darrian fought against wanting to race to his commander's side or engage the creature. He shook his head, turning to face the ogre, that now strode with long strides toward the elf. The elven warrior noticed a movement to his side, a flash of golden armor, and he turned, noticing that King Cailan had joined the fray. He growled for the king to back away, and then turned again, sword and dagger in hand, as he, too, launched himself at the ogre.

Like Duncan, the elf was swatted away like an annoying gnat and sent skidding in the mud. Grasping, spitting out dirt and mud, he rolled over, planting his feet and hands to the ground, and pushed himself from the muddy earth. Duncan was likewise finding his own footing, and the pair rose, turning to race toward the ogre.

Cailan's greatsword cut great arcs in the air, the blood upon the blade dark and corrupted. Bracing his feet, the king leant in as the ogre pummeled at him with great, beefy fists. The golden armor absorbed much of the blows, but Cailan could feel each blow as it rattled his bones and turned his stomach. He had seen both Duncan and the elven warrior be tossed around by this behemoth, and he felt rather proud of himself for standing against it this long.

The ogre growled at the man, leaning downward from its greater height, its thick forearms knocking aside each of Cailan's strong blows. Blood oozed from the numerous cuts the king had scored, yet none of the multiple of wounds seem to deter the great beast.

Duncan and Darrian raced toward the battling pair, watching as Cailan foolishly stood his ground against the giant darkspawn. They watched in disbelief as the great monster, finally tired of its game with the human, reached down with its massive paws, easily lifting the struggling man in its grip. To his credit, Cailan maintained his grip on his sword, and continued to bash at the beast, even as it brought him close to its face and roared, spittle and hot, corrupted breath spraying in the king's face, causing him to blink and gasp for air.

Almost upon the ogre and its captive, the pair of wardens could only watch as the thing flexed its arm, tightening its grip upon the king. With a gasp, Cailan continued to struggle against the powerful hold of the giant. The screech of metal against metal rose, and then a metallic crunching sound met the ears of both approaching wardens. Cailan cried out as his armor gave way to the formidable onslaught, splitting against the might of the massive darkspawn. Blood sprayed from his form as metal bit deeply into too mortal flesh, and his bones crunched and snapped. With an almost disgusted snort, the ogre tossed the now lifeless form from him, turning to meet the pair of wardens.

DA:O

The four climbed the stairwell, pausing at the great iron bound door at the top of the stairs. Alistair pressed an ear to the door, frowning. He turned to the others, shrugging his shoulders to indicate he could discern nothing. Scowling at his human friend, the elven mage pushed to the top, pressing one delicately curved ear to the solid door. With a heavy sigh, he admitted defeat and stepped back, waving a hand to indicate that Alistair should open the door.

Hence, Alistair pushed open the door. As soon as the door, opened, the group could hear unmistakable crunching noises, followed by loud grunts. Confused, the four climbed up the few steps beyond the door, pressing themselves against the cold, stone wall in an attempt to remain concealed. What they saw was something none of them was prepared for.

Its back to the door, crouching in the middle of the circular chamber's floor, the huge horned darkspawn appeared to be eating something. And none of them were certain they wanted to know what, exactly, the giant darkspawn was eating.

Looking over at his fellow warden, Alim asked in a querulous voice, "What is that?"

The more senior of the two wardens knew. Although he had never met one in battle before, he had seen one at a distance, and heard horrific stories from the other Wardens.

Standing easily fifteen feet tall, with colossal, twisting horns jutting from either side of its massive head. This creature from nightmares was an ogre, the largest and most fearfully strong darkspawn.

And it sat directly in their path to where the beacon pyre sat, awaiting them to set it alight.

They all knew, without a word being spoken, that this threat needed to be dealt with immediately.

Pulling everyone into a tight huddle, Alistair explained their situation in careful, even, quiet tones and proceeded to give instruction to each.

"You," he pointed to the larger of the two soldiers - the one who fought sword and shield style as Alistair, "and I will approach it from the rear," Alistair instructed, "keeping as quiet as we can. You," he turned to the second solider, "once we strike, fire your bolts." He pointed to the crossbow the man had wielded with great efficiency during their battle throughout the tower. He solemnly nodded, gripping his weapon. "Just keep firing. We will keep its attention on us, you just shoot wherever you can hit."

Taking a deep breath, he turned to Alim. "You, my friend, I want to keep us on our feet while we battle that monstrosity of a darkspawn." Alim nodded, fighting down the queasy feeling. "And take any opportunity to damage that thing that you can. But, keeping us," he poked a finger into his chest, and then jerked a thumb at the other warrior, "on our feet will be the best thing for defeating that thing."

With a nod, Alistair and his companion warrior rose, and carefully and quietly made their way toward the beast which was, fortunately, still enjoying its snack.

Alim watched as Alistair and the guard slouched down, trying to keep the ogre's attention from them. He brought the healing spells he knew to mind, moving to pull out a few vial of lyrium to help keep him fueled. He frowned into his pouch, taking note that he had far more potions than he had originally packed. A tight feeling overcame him as he realized that Say'reil must have given him more of her potions, and he hoped that his fellow mage would not be in dire need of them.

He glanced up, noting that the crossbow man with him was watching the ogre, his face tinged with green. "Will you be okay?" the elven mage asked, lightly touching the man's arm and allowing some rejuvenating magic to flow from his fingertips and into the man beside him.

Taking a deep breath, the man nodded, offering a sickly smile of thanks to the mage as he rose, readying his crossbow.

Looking up, Alim muttered, "How did the damned thing get up here?" He smirked at the questioning look from his companion. "It's far too big for the door!"

The sickly smile turned into a weak grin, and the warrior offered a small shrug as he moved away from the wall, sighting the ogre and readying the bolt.

DA:O

They heard it, and turned, raising their faces slightly to allow the rain to wash some of the mud and blood, sweat and filth from their flesh. To no avail. The battle would only make its mark upon them once more.

Slanted elven eyes met the large, round orbs of the human who towered over her. They startled again at the sound - a great roaring trumpet of pain and anger. As one, they turned, racing toward the sound.

They stumbled as they came upon the scene, a slight clearing dominated by the massive form of the ogre. Say'reil's eyes scanned the ground, resting upon the golden and bloodied, and all too still form, of the man who had been the human king of Ferelden. Beside her, Adrian snarled, and she turned, watching as the ogre almost negligently swatted Darrian aside. The elven warrior nimbly twisted, avoiding the worst of the blow, and managed to right and launch himself at the creature without a second thought. This time, the creature reached out with one massive paw, catching Darrian in mid-air. With a grunt and a twist, the creature easily tossed the elf into the air. A gasp escaped Say'reil's lips as the dark elf slammed into a nearby tree, the sound of bones snapping echoing in the air. Blood trailed as the elf's body slid down the heavy trunk, and he slumped, unconscious, upon the ground.

With a glance to one another, the two young wardens dashed forward. Say'reil reached Duncan's side, raising her staff to slash at the ogre with its bladed end. The blade bit deeply in a passing forearm, and the thing bellowed out its outrage. The elven mage danced aside as the ogre twisted around, and then quickly kicked out with one tree-like leg. It connected firmly with Say'reil's chest, and she, too, went flying away, to land heavily to the ground. Her head connected sharply upon the hard ground, and darkness enveloped her.

With a snarl, Adrian slashed at the beast, taking its attention fully to himself. He fought the urge to rush to the fallen woman's side, knowing that to do so would be the death of them all. He knew, without approaching, that Cailan was dead. He was uncertain of Darrian, but he was certain Say'reil yet lived. And so he hacked at the beast, cutting great swaths in the tough darkspawn hide, bracing his feet whenever the creature pummeled him with fists, and maintained his stance.

Taking full advantage of the ogre's attention upon the larger human, Duncan readied himself, lining up perfectly before launching himself, yet again, from the ground. The beast turned, but still had to fend off Adrian's blows. Sword and dagger drove deeply into the muscled chest, and the ogre broke off its battle with the large human to concentrate on the one with the blades deeply embedded into its flesh.

Calmly, carefully, Duncan pulled his dagger free, driving it again into the massive chest as he used his blades to make his way up the huge body. Once he was where its heart lay beneath, he pulled his sword free, driving it deeply into its chest, slicing through flesh and muscle, cutting through bone, driving into the massive heart. He gave the blade a vicious twist, and the creature roared out its agony. On the ground, Adrian stepped back, watching as the Warden Commander killed the monarch-killer.

Duncan clung tightly to his deeply embedded blades, each now twisted and caught in the ribs of the great beast. It stumbled, and the warden tucked himself in, riding the beast down as it fell to its back, dead. With a grimace, he rolled from the body, rising as pain erupted in his side. He clutched the pained area as he raced passed Adrian toward where the king lay in his own blood. As he neared the fallen young man, he raised his gauntleted hand to his face. Fresh, bright red blood tinged his fingers.

Adrian followed closely behind the injured man, watching as he fell to his knees beside the dead king. His fingers clutched tightly around the hilt of his greatsword as his green eyes fixed upon the back of the kneeling form of the Warden Commander. Without thought, his hand raised the blade, and in one easy downswing, neatly cleaved the head of Ferelden's Warden Commander from its shoulders.

DA:O

Pain. Such intense, white hot pain as he had never felt before exploded throughout his slender body. He had watched as Alistair and the other shield warrior had battled the ogre. Just before Alistair had delivered the killing blow, the massive creature had smashed the guard into the ground, pulverizing the poor man.

Before the ogre had flopped to the ground, Alistair was on the move, quickly flicking his flint, setting the oil soaked pyre ablaze.

As Alistair turned to congratulate the mage and surviving soldier, the door behind them burst open, and darkspawn had poured in.

And, then, pain…followed by darkness.

DA:O

Adrian stood over the body of the man he had just murdered and felt…nothing. He scowled, trying to bring up any feeling - satisfaction, anger, dismay - but he remained empty. He glanced up, noticing that the beacon had been lit. _How long had that burned_? he wondered. His sharp green eyes scanned over the horizon, expecting Loghain and his troops to overtake the swam of darkspawn.

They did not appear.

Scowling deeper, he turned, his feet now rushing to where Say'reil still lay. He knelt beside her, carefully lifting her from the bloody ground. He noted that her head bled from a gash, and that there was a knot to the back of her head. She breathed normally, however, and otherwise seemed unharmed. Rising, he lifted her to his arms, taking note that her staff lay broken in several pieces beside her. He turned, searching for Darrian's body, but could not find the other elf.

With a heavy frown, he turned and walked away from the battlefield, his arms laden.


	13. Chapter 13

_Sorry for taking so long to update. RL, other stories…ah, excuses, excuses. Anyway, my thanks as always to those who read, lurk, alert, and review!: Spartan Commando, celtic-twinkie, Nithu, LazyL, Sidani, Pirate Ninjas of the Abyss, Tyanilth, Ventisquear, Superstar Kid_

_And thanks to Enaid Aderyn for helping me out with a bit of trivia…you have my eternal thanks! Here's your cookie!_

_Beyond the Sylvan Paths_

_Chapter 13_

Pain shot through his entire being, focused mainly behind his eyes. With a groan, he pressed his hands to his head, rolling over onto his side as he pushed himself up with his elbows into a seated position.

It was then he noticed he was lying upon a thin but comfortable mat, covered with warm blankets that smelled of wood smoke and herbs.

Fighting back the wave of nausea, the elf blinked open his blue eyes, staring around the small room he found himself in, his eyes settling upon a curtained off area just beyond the bed he lay upon.

"Ah, so, your eyes finally open," came a sultry, feminine voice. He frowned, watching as a young, scantily clothed, raven haired human woman sauntered to the edge of his bed. Yellow gold eyes flickered over his naked chest and along the strong lines of his shoulders. The frown upon his face turned into a scowl at the woman's blatant appreciation of his near-naked form.

"I am Morrigan," she introduced herself, a smirk twisting the corners of her generous mouth in amusement. "And you are in my home deep within the Wilds."

Darrian's eyes scanned the tiny hut, taking in the rough wooden logs, large fire pit complete with kettle to the front of the one room dwelling, various chests and other odds and ends, once more fixing upon the curtain.

"Morrigan?" Darrian asked, tilting his head slightly his face scrunched up in thought. _By the Maker, his head hurt!_ "I believe Alistair mentioned you. You and your…mother live here, right?"

"Indeed," Morrigan confirmed, that smirk widening as she continued to watch him with her predator eyes.

Flushing slightly, realizing he was being very rude to this woman who quite possibly had saved his life, Darrian bowed his head, "Thank you for saving my life, Morrigan. My name is Darrian Tabris, Grey Warden." His blue eyes scanned the room. "How did I end up here?" he asked, returning his gaze to the woman standing above him.

The smirk widened into a self-satisfied grin as she replied. "I found you, lying unconscious against a tree, with several broken bones and a most severe head injury. In the form of a wolf, I managed to drag you safely from the battle." She tilted her head slightly, moving forward, slight concern upon her delicate features as her eyes searched for any sign of the head wound he had suffered. "You seem to be recovering quite nicely."

"Was I badly wounded?' he asked, raising a tentative hand to his head, running his fingers over the shorn patch through his thick, black hair. He grimaced as the stubbly feel, and then slowly traced the ragged scar.

"You were, but now you are fine," Morrigan said with exaggerated patience.

"Thank you for healing me, Morrigan."

The young woman appeared surprised by the elf's words, and she flushed prettily, her pale cheeks taking on a rosy glow. "I…you are welcome. Although I am no healer. 'Twas my mother, in fact, who healed you."

Smiling up at the woman, Darrian pulled the blankets closer to and around him. "Still, thank you."

A small moan whispered through the curtain, and Morrigan moved quickly, pushing the fabric aside as she passed within. Curious, Darrian rose, unsteadily, to his feet, grasping hold of a nearby chair to help him maintain his balance. He was relieved that he was, at the very least, wearing his smallclothes and cautiously made his way over to the curtain. Pushing the corner aside, he stepped in, watching as Morrigan ran a moistened cloth over the forehead of the prone figure upon the bed. He stepped nearer, stepping to the young woman's side. With a gasp, he realized that it was Alim who lay, unconscious, his chest swathed in bandages, upon the bed.

"Will he live?" the young warden asked as he stepped nearer his brother warden's side.

Morrigan glanced up, and he was surprised to see the slightest bit of concern for the small elf upon her face. "Mother believes he shall," she whispered, then shushed at the elven mage as he gasped and whimpered in his sleep. "He has suffered grievous injuries, but shall heal, with little to show for the injuries."

As Alim settled down, Morrigan stepped back, motioning with her dark head for Darrian to step back beyond the curtain. With a final, concerned look to his young friend, the elven warrior allowed himself to be herded from the place.

As they neared his own bed, Morrigan moved away, stepping to the chest at the foot of the bed. Opening it, she revealed the elf's belongings. "You should dress," she instructed. "Mother, and your friend, await outside."

"My friend?" The elf questioned, raising his eyes from the contents of the trunk. "Alistair?"

"The tall, dimwitted one? Yes," the young woman smirked. "He has been in quite the state since Mother told him of what occurred on the field."

Confusion marred his features. "What occurred on the field?" he asked. "You mean the king's death?"

Morrigan, who had turned to leave, paused, then turned back to fully face the warden. "The man who was to respond to the beacon lit by your young friend there," she pointed toward the cordoned area, "and the…other," Morrigan seemed to find it difficult not to show her disdain for Darrian's fellow warden, "quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle." She shifted, one hip jutted outwards as she assumed a more defiant stance. "I suppose it would be unkind to say that the other warden was behaving childishly." It was not a question, but a challenge just as assuredly as her stance was.

A deep scowl formed across Darrian's dark face. "Yes, it would be unkind! He just lost everyone - _everyone _- who mattered most to him." _Just as I have_.

Yellow eyes flickered, but with amusement rather than sympathy. "Would your fellow Wardens welcome the blubbering your friend seems to excel in? If so, then they are not the warriors of legend I have heard of."

Blue eyes flickered to her face, and he swallowed the angry words before they could pass his lips. Morrigan watched as he struggled for control before he spoke again. "Everyone assumes Grey Wardens have no feelings, no souls." Those blue eyes were cold as ice as they rose to meet the yellows of the young woman. Morrigan flinched slightly at their intensity. "We mourn our fallen; we can feel their loss. We Wardens are _family_. The only family most of us will ever have. Alistair is not being childish; he is not being weak, because he chooses to express that loss."

The only sounds in the hut were the crackling of the fire, sputtering of whatever was in the cauldron over the flames, and Alim's labored breathing. Blue eyes held yellow. Finally, Morrigan broke eye contact, nodding slightly at the elven warden.

Cold anguish immediately flooded through the elf, disbelief screaming at every core as his mind went back to the battle. He knew everyone was dead, everyone who had come to replace the family he had lost…but it did not feel real. Anger replaced loss for a moment, and he spat out, "Loghain…." his voice caught, and his fists clenched tightly at his sides. "Loghain did not respond…."

"I am sorry," Morrigan remarked, and Darrian was almost convinced of the sincerity of her words. "You would not want to know what is happening on that field at this moment."

The elf stepped back, finding himself sitting upon the bed. Duncan, Claudio, Tarimel, Kherek….all of the wardens he had come to know as family these many months. His blue eyes closed tightly and his head drooped, his hands clasping at his forehead. "Were there no other survivors?" He had to ask, misguided hope welling in his breast, trying to keep his thoughts from Say'reil and what could have happened to the Dalish mage.

Morrigan shook her head, then said when the elf did not raised his gaze. "There are survivors, but I witnessed none to be Grey Wardens." She tilted her head, watching the man before her. "I take it, there are others you would wish to learn of?"

He bit his lower lip, hard. With a nod, he raised his head, his eyes fierce. "Many," was the only response he could force out for a moment. "There were others I was with…" He broke off, uncertain if he could continue.

Her dark head bent down slightly. "There was the body of the king lying not far from where you lay." She raised her eyes, noting he was now watching her. "Another man, dressed in rather intricate armor, lay across the king." Lovely features screwed up slightly as her mind revisited the scene. "I saw no others as near as they."

Dark brows rose at that, and Darrian stood back up, pacing before the fire. "Could they have escaped?" he wondered aloud in a near whisper, pausing to stare into the flames of the fire.

The young woman stood there, for many moments longer, watching the turmoil that flooded over the elven man. "Mother awaits you outside. Best not keep her waiting." With those words, the woman left the small hut, leaving the elven warden to his thoughts, his misery, and disbelief.

DA:O

The young noble slumped down to the ground, carefully adjusting his burden upon his lap. A cautious hand rose to inspect the head wound of his unconscious companion, grimacing slightly at the feel of the dried blood that encased her scalp. The knot at the back of her head had reduced somewhat under the healing poultices he had applied, and yet she remained unconscious.

His back braced against a large tree, he peered into the elf's face, noting how pale she was. Her breathing was steady, as was her heartbeat. She just would not awaken. Looking up, his green eyes scanned the area surrounding them, his thoughts jumbled as he waged an internal war within his own mind.

Part of him, that part that was reminiscent of the noble rake he had been back in Highever, railed against his murder of Duncan. He still marveled at how calmly he had approached the injured man, Duncan's back to him, and easy it was for him to remove the man's head from his shoulders. A slight shudder coursed through him, and that old, familiar part of him was pleased to note the revulsion.

It was that other part, that darkness he had felt growing within himself since the slaughter back at Highever, that scolded his weakness. Vengeance was called for. He blinked, the vision of his father, lying upon the bloody larder floor, one hand barely holding his entrails within his quickly weakening body, his mother kneeling beside him, bow in hand, calm determination upon her fine face, coming to mind. His mother could have been saved, had the Warden Commander only forced the issue. But, that growing darkness in his psyche insisted that the Grey Warden only cared to swell the ranks within the Order, and cared nothing for those lives lost that fateful night. That the man had so easily and deliberately declared that the loss of life at Cousland Castle paled in comparison to other deaths…Adrian shook himself visibly. To the then naïve young man, any loss of life was deplorable. And if any could be saved, then they should have tried harder. For that crime alone, Duncan deserved to die.

Yet, the logical, quiet part of him questioned the wisdom of killing the Commander of the Grey during what could be a Blight.

Scrubbing roughened hands over his face, the Warden moved to rise, his hands grasping Say'reil beneath her knees and behind her head. With a grunt, he pushed himself from the ground, glancing down once more to the woman in his arms.

That new, darker part of him insisted he would be best served by leaving the Dalish woman behind, that he would never survive escaping the Wilds if he were to carry her along the way. But, that other part - that part he tried to cling to at this moment - refused to allow him to be responsible for yet another death. Killing someone in the guise of justice - vengeance - was one matter; murdering a helpless woman for the sake of his own safety…no, that was not something the young noble was prepared to accept.

If he were to do that, would he be any better than he had considered Duncan? Would he not then open himself to the same vengeance he had sought - and gained - against the Warden Commander?

That argument quieted the unquiet places of his mind, and he began his course away from the center of the Wilds, hoping to keep ahead of the horde.

He did not get very far, suddenly finding himself surrounded by shadows that moved with grace amongst the twisted trees surrounding him. His eyes fixed upon one particular shadow, Adrian shifted his burden in his arms, preparing to lower her to the ground should the need to fight arise. These shadows did not move as the darkspawn had, and he doubted that any darkspawn had the wherewithal to form such an ambush.

Eyes wary, he watched as the mixed group of humans and elves - all of various ages - crept from the surrounding trees. One elven man, dressed in rough leathers, wielding a sword and dagger, stepped closer, his dark green eyes fixed upon the unconscious form of Say'reil, resting in Adrian's arms. A scowl formed across his smooth, dirty face and he spat.

"What're ye doin', shem?" the elf growled out, glaring up into the human's face.

Before he could answer, a human man, large and broad shouldered, wearing supple, well worn leather armor and wielding sword and dagger upon his hip, stepped close.

"Get's away from him, Mar," he drawled at the elf, pushing him away as he turned toward Adrian. His eyes, dirt brown, shifted from Adrian's face to the elven woman's. "Nice piece ye got's there," he smirked. "Kinda shame, that she's all out like that." He lifted his face toward Adrian's, bringing a dirty hand to his chin. "Tell ya what. Ye trade off the elf to us, we'll let ya go on, peaceable like and all."

Stunned, Adrian took a step back, a scowl forming upon his face as he prepared to lower Say'reil to the ground. "You touch her, fiend, and you will face my blade!" the nobleman bit out as he lowered the elf down, his eyes ever upon the human bandit, taking in as two dozen more of the outlaws surrounded the trio.

The bandit barked out a laugh. "C'mon!" he poked. "Jus' a knife-eared wench. Ya could buy another anywhere."

Straightening, his hand going to the hilt of his blade, Adrian snapped. "'Ware your tongue, knave! That is a Grey Warden you are insulting!"

"Grey Warden, eh?" the bandit smirked. "Guess ya think yer one, too, eh?"

"I am."

"Prove it," the human taunted, his eyes going back to the unconscious form of the Dalish woman.

Brows rose at that. "How do I prove I am what I say I am?" Adrian shot back, his temper rising as his hand folded along the hilt of his greatsword.

As the bandit opened his mouth to reply, a wizened, raspy voice interrupted from behind him. "T'ain't no one's gonna admit to bein' a Warden if'n he ain't one, Hugo." Hugo, apparently the bandit leader, turned around and Adrian lifted his face to watch as an elderly human woman with wild gray hair pushed her way through the circle of bandits.

"Why not?" Hugo asked petulantly, obviously not appreciative of the interruption by the old woman.

Snickering, the woman shouldered past the bandit, stepping around Adrian as though he wasn't even there, to kneel beside Say'reil's prone form. "'Cause to do so would be to invite curse of the Blight upon ye, boyo," the old woman sniggered, brushing the hair from Say'reil's face. "Doncha know nothing, ye fool boy?"

Hugo scoffed openly at that and Adrian stood, uncertain whether the bandits would attack or not. His eyes went to the old woman, watching as blue healing light flickered along her hands. _Wonderful_, he thought, _an apostate_.

"What're ye fer, Meriam," Hugo asked, his eyes skimming to Adrian, back to his healer.

"Girl's hurt," Meriam muttered, "head wound." Her eyes, a dull gray, clouded by cataracts, rose to Adrian's face. "In the battle, were ye?" she asked, a slight frown upon her wrinkled face.

Adrian nodded, and Meriam snorted. "Thought as much. Bloody slaughter, that," she turned back to the elf. "Head wounds are the worse. Rather'd get a sword through the gut, that's true." The blue light flickered, darkening slightly to indigo as she continued to mutter and cast her healing magic upon the elf.

With a glance to Hugo and his bandits, Adrian stepped around the kneeling form of the human healer, kneeling on the other side of Say'reil. Meriam looked up, a smirk upon her thin, wrinkled lips. "She'll live," she whispered as the magic continued to flow from her hands. "She's a right strong one." She chuckled at that. "Course, she's a Wild Elf, and them's there are tougher then they look." Her gray head tilted as she continued to regard the young man across from her. "Ye've a strength to ye as well. But," she turned toward the elf, bending down to listen to Say'reil's breathing. "ye best beware o' that darkness that growin' in yer heart." She lifted her head, brushing away a stray lock of steel gray hair. "It'll be yer death if'n ya don't mind it."

Adrian blinked at her words, opening his mouth to deny them, but found no words with which to do so. Meriam sniggered again, shaking her shaggy head. "There's a long road ahead of ye, boyo. An' this one here can walk it with ya." She lightly patted Say'reil's shoulder and then looked back up, her eyes slightly clearer than they had been a moment ago. "Be careful that it be beside ye she walks, rather than tethered behind."

With those words, the old mage turned back to her patient. The healing light flickered from her hands, and she patted Say'reil carefully on the brow. With a grunt, the old woman pushed herself upright. "She'll live, and waken soon." She turned, barking for Hugo and his men to lead the way. "We'll not bug ye again, young Warden." She glanced back over her shoulder as Hugo and the other bandits made their way from the clearing.

"Be ye well, Warden Adrian Cousland," Adrian jolted to his feet as the mage pronounced his name. "And head northward, to the village of Lothering. There, ye'll find yer fellows what's that ye lost."

With those words, Meriam followed after the group of outlaws, leaving a stunned Adrian Cousland standing over the form of the elf.

DA:O

He could feel the pull at his blood. That dark taint that called to him, pulling him from the secure and hidden clearing by the swamp. So many of them, prowling about the Wilds. Hunting. And yet the power of the witch kept them at bay, kept the darkspawn from becoming aware of the presence of the three Grey Wardens and two apostates just yards from where they searched.

Rubbing a dark hand across his blue eyes, Darrian turned away from the stagnant pool. Alim still lay within the rough hut of the female mages, alive. Thank the Maker. _Alive_. Yet, still unconscious.

His eyes went to where Alistair sat slumped before the fire, absentmindedly feeding sticks into the blaze. The elven warden frowned slightly, sighing heavily, as he pulled himself from the pond's edge to sit beside his brother warden and closest friend.

Knowing Alistair, the young human probably still blamed himself for the mage's injuries.

As he moved to sit beside Alistair, the elven warden slapped a hand to the other man's shoulder, eliciting a slight grimace from the other man. With a glance out of the corner of his eye, Alistair shifted to the side, giving Darrian room to settle upon. His eyes went back to the flames, staring intently into their depths.

"You know that you'll never find any answers in there," Darrian quipped after a few moments of silence.

"You certain of that?" Alistair asked with a slight shrug of his broad shoulders.

"Yup," the elven warrior remarked, bumping into Alistair's shoulder with his own. "Stared into the fires often enough in the Alienage, you know. Always looking for answers." He bumped into Alistair harder this time, causing the human to turn and look at him. "I never found that answers just came to me by sitting and waiting for someone - or something - else giving them to me."

With a heavy sigh, Alistair turned fully to his friend, a man he had known for over six months, a man he had went through his joining with. He and Darrian had taken an instant liking to each other, seeing in the other a kindred soul, while at the same time recognizing the great difference from each other. Like Alistair, Darrian tended to react with emotion to situations, and there were times when he could even out talk Alistair, especially when nervous. But, as similar as the pair was, their differences were glaring.

Alistair was a genuinely shy young man who learned early on to take orders and never - ever - express his own opinion in matters of importance. Not that that knowledge and training ever kicked in when it came to the occasional sarcastic remark. However, he had learned when and where to make such remarks. Such as, never ever say anything around any of the senior Templars nor any of the revered mothers. It was Alistair's firm belief that a requirement for such positions was the distinct lack of humor.

Darrian, on the other hand, how no idea what the words 'shy', 'tact', or even 'self restraint' could possibly mean. Alistair's first memory of Darrian was when he accompanied Duncan to recruit from the ranks of the Templars. The elf had spoken up as the Revered Mother argued with Duncan over the Grey Wardens' 'right' to conscript from the army of the Maker. Even now, Alistair could not force himself to bring to mind the exact words the Alienage bred elf had used, but he did recall with a smile how the elf had to be forcibly removed from the Chantry as Duncan and the Mother worked out just how much 'right' the Grey Wardens actually had. From that day forward, Alistair decided he had liked the outspoken elf immensely.

Thus, the relief that had swept over the young human had been…intense…when he had learned that Darrian had been found - alive - and brought to the clearing of the witches.

"I'm just thinking," Alistair muttered, turning his honey-gold eyes back to the flickering flames. Beside him Darrian snickered, and he turned his head enough to watch the elf shake his head.

"Yeah, I kinda gathered that, dummy," Darrian smirked. "But what are you thinking - or worrying - about?"

"Nothing and everything," Alistair admitted with a great sigh, rubbing a large hand over the top of his shorn head. "Will Alim live? How are we - three relatively new Wardens - supposed to stop the Blight? How can we gather the allies needed without the treaties? Do we remain in Ferelden, or go to Orlais to gather other Wardens? Will any other Wardens come to Ferelden's aid?" He turned to fully face the other Warden, taking note the quiet, thoughtful look upon his dark face. "I could go on, you know. Stop me any time it gets to be too much."

"So, same thoughts I've been having, then," Darrian admitted with a frown, turning to face the flames, bending forward to rest his elbows upon his knee, cradling his chin in his hands. "And Loghain left the Wardens, the army and the King to die at the hands of the darkspawn."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Well," Darrian turned his head slightly, a finger rubbing along his chin. "Did you know that Loghain did not put any stock in Duncan's assertion that this was a Blight?" Alistair shook his head slightly, frowned, and then nodded.

"I had heard some mutterings about that," the former Templar admitted. "I believe Cailan didn't seem to believe it either."

Curtly, Darrian gave a nod, turning back to the flames. "We're days from the disaster, and I still can't figure out where we go from here," the elf admitted.

"You will go northward to Lothering," the elder witch stated as she stepped from the hut, walking toward the two men. There was a hint of madness about her eyes, but an unnerving, see all kind of madness Darrian had seen only once in his life. He shuddered slightly at the memory, pushing it back into the furthest recesses of his mind.

"What's in Lothering?" Alistair asked, frowning.

"Your path, young Warden," the elderly woman smirked, cocking a hip to rest a hand upon it. "Your young friend is now in a natural slumber. I expect he shall awaken with the morning's light."

Both men released breaths, rising to their feet. Alistair had made a move toward the hut, but the old woman shook her head.

"As I said, it's a natural sleep he's in now. One of rest. Let him have this night's time to recuperate, and then in the morning when he's up and about, you can begin to make your plans and preparations." Her yellow eyes widened slightly, the corners of her thin mouth twisting upward. "After all, you have a Blight to defeat."

With those words, the witch turned away, walking the perimeter of the swampy pond her hut bordered along, paying no more heed to the young men who merely stared after her.

DA:O

Night had fallen, the darkness adding to the sense of urgency that Adrian had a difficult time ridding himself of. Say'reil had awaken, as Meriam had said she would, and now walked silently beside him. Her staff and bow had both been lost during their flight from Ostagar, but both daggers remained, and these she now held in her hands. Knowing she had magic at her disposal gave the young noble hope that they may well yet escape from the tangled Wilds.

His greatsword held in hand, the young man pushed forward, trusting in the old woman's words. Hoping in them. She had indicated that they would meet others, perhaps other wardens. Then, perhaps, the matter of leadership and exactly where they would go next could safely be put upon someone else's shoulders.

Not that he doubted his own ability to lead. By the Void, no. He had been raised to lead an army, groomed to eventually lead the soldiers of Highever once his brother took the title of Teyrn. Adrian had been happy with that arrangement. Many younger sons would be delegated to become forgotten as one of the many Banns of Ferelden. As a general leading Highever's army, there was a future, the potential to make his own name, perhaps found his own noble family. Adrian had been determined from a young age to not simply vanish into the nether as so many other younger sons did.

Teeth ground together as he strove to push the memories of the slaughter at his ancestral home to the farthest reaches of his mind. Memories such as those held no place in the life he was now to lead. He glanced to the side, watching as his elven companion stoically marched alongside him, gamely keeping up with his longer strides.

When she had awoken, Say'reil had naturally asked what had happened. Giving her the merest basics - that the darkspawn had overwhelmed both the Wardens and King's soldiers, that Loghain had failed to storm the battlegrounds once the beacon had been lit, that both the King and Duncan were dead, and that he had grabbed her and dashed from the site to avoid certain death - the pair agreed to abide by the bandit witch's direction to head to Lothering. After all, they really had no other option, other than to continue to wander the edges of the Wilds forever, until either wild animal, hunger or darkspawn killed them.

_Lothering_. The young man frowned. He had only the vaguest knowledge of the place. If he recalled correctly - and he could not be certain of that - Bann Haerviu was lord of the village, a close compatriot of Loghain's. His face screwed up slightly as he tried to recall the one time he had met the man. The only impression he could recall was being severally under whelmed by the weasely little man.

Say'reil stumbled slightly, and he automatically reached out one large hand to her arm, steadying her and pulling her to a halt. Green eyes scanning the darkness, the noble frowned. "We should probably find a spot to rest," he said, trying to maintain an air of calm. The woman had just suffered a severe injury, and needed to rest. He could see her eyes, glinting slightly in the wane moonlight, as she, too, scanned the area around them.

With a nod of her head, a movement the man barely recognized, she moved to the brush about them, pushing around the roots. "We can rest here," she said once she had rearranged the shrubbery. "It will offer us shelter, camouflage our shapes, and offer some protection while we wait for daylight."

Adrian settled his large frame beside the lithe form of the elven woman, shoulders brushing against one another as they settled in to wait out the darkness.

DA:O

Morning dawned bright and breezy, sweeping away the stale air surrounding the swamp. Darrian rose from his bedroll, stretching languidly as he stood, sharp eyes scanning the horizon before settling upon the just stirring form of his brother warden.

A fire crackled in the firepit, and the elf could smell the aroma of rabbit and herbs wafting from the cauldron settled over the flames. Smirking, he sought out the form of the young witch, Morrigan, finding her seated beside the door leading into the hut. Her yellow eyes met his blue, and she gave him a curt nod as she returned to mending the piece of cloth she held in her hands.

With a groan, Alistair pushed himself into a seated position, rubbing at his eyes with a fist. As the young man pushed himself to his feet, the door to the hut swung open, and the elder witch exited, followed closely by the shuffling form of their elven mage.

"Alim!" both men cried as they rushed to the small elf. Alim's soft blue eyes blinked upward, a sly grin crossing his pretty face as he took in the concerned expressions on each face.

"Well," he quipped, smirking at the pair as the elderly mage moved away. "If I had known I'd garner the attention of two such fine specimens of manhood, I would lay abed more often!"

Chuckling as Alistair flushed crimson, Darrian shook his head as he lightly clapped the smaller man upon a shoulder. "And then how would we ever get you out of bed?" he quipped right back, both elves laughing as Alistair's face reddened deeper.

"Can you two please just…_not_!" the young human demanded, trying his best to glare at the two, but failing as his relief for Alim's recovery overwhelmed him. "Thank the Maker you're alive, Alim!" he declared.

That smirk changed to an honest smile, and Alim reached up and lightly patted Alistair on the arm. "I'm fine, Alistair. Thanks to you, Morrigan and," the young elf swept a hand out to indicate the older mage, "I'm sorry." he paused, frowning. "But I have not gotten your name."

"She hasn't given it to us, either," Darrian complained, scowling over at the smirking old woman.

"Names are pretty, but useless. If you must call me something, call me Flemeth."

All three pair of eyes blinked, and, behind them, Morrigan snorted with amusement. The old woman - Flemeth - calmly watched the three men before her.

"Flemeth?" Alistair breathed out, astonished. "_The _Flemeth, from the legends? Daveth was right. You are the Witch of the Wilds."

"Witch of the Wilds?" Flemeth scoffed, throwing her head back with laughter. "My magic is useful; you three can attest to that. Who cares by what name I choose to be known by?"

Stepping forward, hijacking the conversation before Alistair could say more, Darrian bowed his head. "Our thanks for your help, Flemeth," the elf replied smoothly, noticing the amused expression that crossed the witch's wrinkled features.

"My, my…such manners." Flemeth cocked her head to the side. "And always in the last place you look…" she glanced down to her feet, "like stockings!" she cackled as she returned her gaze to the men before her.

Darrian met her smirk with a grin of his own before sobering slightly as he recalled what they were facing. As Morrigan continued with her mending, the three men discussed what had happened at the battle with Flemeth, seeking to somehow pull together a plan for defeating the Blight.

It seemed so hopeless. They did not have the treaties that Alim had retrieved from the ruins during his initiation. Without those, the three young Wardens were uncertain they could force any of their traditional allies to assist against the Blight.

And then there was Loghain's betrayal to consider. Maker knew what the man had been thinking, why he had betrayed not only his king but the Wardens.

"Why would Loghain do this?" Alistair questioned, a deep scowl upon his handsome, young face.

The old witch looked over at the young human, sympathy clearly etched upon her wizened face. "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature." She said, sadness heavy in her raspy voice. "Only Loghain can know his true reasons. And he, sadly, is not present to answer our questions."

Alim frowned, glancing over to where Morrigan continued to sit, no longer hiding her interest with the pretense of mending laundry. "Well," the young mage said as he turned his attention back to his fellow Wardens and the old witch. "If we're going to get started, we should, ah, well, you know…get started."

Smirking at the elven mage, Flemeth nodded. "Now, before you leave, I have one final gift to impart."

"Oh, we couldn't…" Darrian began, his eyes shifting to his friends, who in turn looked at him with curiosity and dread.

"Oh, but I must insist," she purred, turning to face Morrigan. "Morrigan shall be accompanying you on your quest."

"What?" Darrian and Morrigan asked simultaneously, the younger witch glaring at her elder.

"Her magic will be useful. And, more importantly, she can get you through the Wilds and past the darkspawn horde."

A black brow twitched up as Darrian turned to face the young human woman. "The darkspawn won't be able to sense us?" he asked. Turning her glare from Flemeth over to the dark elf, Morrigan gave a curt nod.

"Indeed. Mother will give me something else for them to…smell," she drawled out, scowling. She turned to her mother. "Mother…" But Flemeth held up a halting hand, and Morrigan fell silent.

"Do not argue with me, girl," the old woman warned. "They need you. Without your help, they will not survive."

Trying not to feel insulted by the old woman's words, Darrian watched as Morrigan struggled with her obvious desire to argue further and the praise barely contained in the old woman's words.

Pride won out. "Fine," she muttered. "Allow me to gather my things, if you please." And she sauntered off to pack her belongings.

DA:O

Lothering was a dismal little town, full of desperate, frightened people, hoping to flee the darkspawn that erupted from the Wilds. The bandits that plagued the direct path to the village were easily dispatched, the survivors running off in fear once Adrian had cleaved their leader in half.

The pair now stood before the Chantry, eyes turning toward the Tavern and then back to the double doors to the Chantry. "Any survivors will more than likely end up in the Chantry," Adrian had told the Dalish woman, who glared at the doors as though they were a living, breathing threat.

She nodded. "You are probably correct, Adrian," she admitted quietly. "But…"

He understood. He truly did. His parents were very insistent that their children learn Ferelden history - all of the history, even that which had not been recorded in the 'official' histories. They had made certain that Adrian and Fergus learned about the Night Elves, Loghain's regiment of elven archers who fought during the Rebellion against Orlais. Bryce and Eleanor Cousland insisted that they understand the Dalish struggle just to find a place to lay their dead for their final rest. And, the Teyrn and Teyrna made certain that regardless of what the Chantry said, the pair of young men understood that Mages were virtual prisoners in the cold towers they were herded into.

Elves, the Dalish, Mages…they had no cause to trust the Chantry, and Say'reil, being a Dalish Mage had even less cause. Putting his hands to her shoulders, he turned her to face him. "I promise, no one will harm you. Not only will I not let them, but you are a Grey Warden. From what I understand, that makes you immune to any shackles the Chantry would seek to place upon you."

Frowning, she glanced back to the offending doors. "I am being silly, aren't I?" she asked as she turned back to her companion.

With a small smile, Adrian nodded, the smile widening as Say'reil's purple eyes narrowed. "Maybe a little." He gave her a gentle shove, his hands still upon her shoulders. "Come on. Who knows how long a wait before our 'fellows' decide to make an appearance."


	14. Chapter 14

_I know, I know…been a long time between updates. I have a really good excuse…ahm! Just a minute, I wrote it down and put it…somewhere!_

_Anyway, thanks to everyone who has been reading, alerting and especially reviewing! I know a couple of my fellow Cheeky Monkeys have also been awaiting an update, so, here it is! Thanks, as always, to Pirate Ninjas of the Abyss, Nithu, Ventisquear, Infamous227, Cibiripilli, Isala Uthenera for their reviews! _

_Beyond the Sylvan Paths_

_Chapter 14_

Say'reil sat hunched in her seat, hands clasping the mug of hot tea. Adrian was at the bar, speaking in quiet tones to the barkeep, his intensely green eyes shifting to her every now and again. She watched as a smile he obviously hoped was comforting crossed his handsome features, and she weakly returned the gesture.

Things had not gone as they had hoped since entering the small village standing in the path of the darkspawn.

First, had been their meeting with the Revered Mother. While the Dalish mage would admit the woman seemed genuinely concerned about the welfare of the villagers, that she had not yet given orders to the Templars who served her to evacuate the small town seemed thoughtless. Did the old woman truly believe that their Maker would divert the destructive wave that was the darkspawn that surely must be heading their way?

Say'reil let Adrian speak, certain she would not be able to maintain any semblance of calm and cordiality that would be needed. The Revered Mother – Say'reil never thought to garner the woman's name – informed both Grey Wardens that word had come to them that Teyrn Loghain had declared the Grey Wardens traitors to Ferelden, and placed a hefty bounty upon their heads. The two young Wardens exchanged concerned looks, which the cleric had clearly caught on. Hastily she assured them that she had no intention of letting word leak that they were present within the village limits, and only bade that they leave as soon as possible.

That had been two days ago. Now the pair watched the door to the tavern warily, expecting either Loghain's men to come and arrest them or…Say'reil shook her head. Adrian had hoped that the bandit witch's words were true – that there would be those they would meet within this tiny, ratspit of a village who would be accompanying them. However, knowing whom to trust was proving difficult.

The elven mage shifted in her seat, yet again conscience of the fact that a red haired human woman wearing the robes emblazoned with the symbol of the chantry was watching her with great interest. Certainly, there were many within the tavern who would glance occasionally – and often – at the pretty Dalish woman, eyes going toward the tall, muscular form of the young man who had accompanied her. Those glances – those eyes – while disconcerting, were not as worrying as the interest shown by the red head. Purple eyes narrowed and she gave a slight sneer to the Sister, who immediately turned away once she realized that her interest had garnered interest of its own.

The seat next to her shifted as Adrian took his seat beside her, carefully placing a plate of watered down stew before her. Grimacing, she watched as he set a similar plate in front of himself, an apologetic shrug of his shoulders accompanying the movement.

"I do not know why we remain here," Say'reil muttered as she picked up her spoon, staring down into her plate. "The longer we remain, the greater the chance of discovery."

Sighing, Adrian nodded, his strong hand fiddling with his spoon. He was feeling the tension as much as his companion was. However, he was reluctant to leave just yet. Taking a breath, he shook his head, spooning stew onto his utensil and scooping it to his mouth. A dark brow rose at that, and Say'reil settled back into her chair, ignoring the meal as she watched her fellow chew his supper thoughtfully.

A blond brow rose in answer to the dark. Swallowing, Adrian allowed a small smile to cross his face. "Do you still have the treaties?" he asked, motioning in a general direction at the elf herself, seeking to draw the woman's attention to their duty rather than their current situation.

Long fingers reached for the pouch at her hip, and she pulled the pouch free of her belt, pushing her plate back as she settled the pouch before her. Setting his spoon down, Adrian reached for the pouch, pulling the ties open before pulling free the parchment therein.

"Have you looked at these?" he asked, frowning down at the parchment held in his hands.

"Of course," came the petulant answer, followed with a weary sigh. Smiling to take the bite from her voice, she asked, "Why?"

A deep sigh escaped his lips. Adrian still was not certain he believed they faced a Blight. Duncan had been purposefully oblique about why he believed this to be a Blight. He had obviously not presented sound evidence to the King – who had almost laughed off Duncan's concerns – or Teyrn Loghain, who openly scoffed at the notion.

However, he was a Grey Warden, despite any and all misgivings and anger he still harbored over that fact. Duncan was dead; and despite the occasional twinge of horror and guilt at his own actions in perpetuating such an act, Adrian could honestly tell himself that he was glad the treacherous man had met his end.

And he was glad he had been the one to see to that finish.

But that nagging corner of his mind – the one that had stood, horror struck as the blade of his greatsword struck the head of the Warden Commander free of his shoulders – still railed against the action, against any of the freedom he felt at the action.

_What if this was, indeed, a Blight?_

Scowling down at his hands, the Warden carefully unfolded the carefully preserved papers. Curious, Say'reil shifted her chair closer, her shoulder brushing against Adrian's arm as she peered over his arm to the treaties he now held.

"This one," he picked up a page, marked with an anvil and hammer, "is for the dwarves. Since Orzammar is the closer of the two remaining dwarven settlements that would be where we would need to go to garner their aid."

"The duergen'len?"

"Duer…"

Smiling, Say'reil answered, "Children of the Stone," she reached over and gently ran a finger along the paper. "There are tales that at one time the Children of the Stone were allied with the People." She gave a graceful shrug then, her smile softening at the memory of the countless hours of study she had endured as a child. "I am uncertain if it is true legends or fanciful tales."

Watching her face, enjoying the sight of her smile, Adrian nodded slightly as he pulled another sheet free of the bundle. Glancing at the sigil – that of a stark gray tower against a dark sky – he remarked, "Ah, this one must be for the mages."

Frowning, Say'reil looked at the parchment he now held aloft. "Do not the mages already serve Ferelden?"

"No," Adrian remarked as he replaced the parchments before unfolding the third. "They fall under the supervision of the chantry. The Crown of Ferelden – really, of any country – have little to no say in how the mages are used."

"_Used_," Say'reil echoed, the smile disappearing from her face at the young man's words. She took a deep breath, letting it loose slowly.

"I'm sorry…"

Letting loose a deep sigh, she replied, "Don't be," she looked into his deep green eyes, smiling softly at him. "I understand that you humans look at mages differently than we of the Dales do." Again there was that gentle shrug, one that Adrian was quickly deciphering as defeat.

Holding her gaze for another moment, Adrian's green eyes shifted focus, scanning the common room the pair sat within.

The room was crowded with the hungry, tired and frightened. Desperate humans (Say'reil was the only elf within the inn) gathered, huddled to one another, too frightened to leave the false security found behind Lothering's fragile gates, yet too frightened to remain. Caught in a state of fearful limbo. Adrian frowned as his gaze continued to take in the forms of the men, women and children within the common room, pausing as he took note of the pair of clear blue eyes that had settled upon him.

The red haired Chantry sister offered the man a small smile, and Adrian's green eyes narrowed slightly as he gave her a nod in greeting. The former noble tilted his head slightly, taking in the Sister's short red hair, clear, friendly eyes and wide smile set within a very pretty face. He continued to watch as she carefully navigated herself around the crowded room, moving with a grace and purpose to let the young man know that this woman had been trained in arts other than reciting the Chant.

As the Sister made her way nearer to where the two Grey Wardens sat, the door to the tavern opened, allowing a burst of chilled early morning air to waft throughout the stuffy common room. Many of those nearest the door muttered at the intrusion, some calling out that there was no more room and to go away.

Adrian's eyes went immediately to the doors, taking in the half dozen armored and armed men that entered the tavern. One man, obviously the leader, judging by the hawkish care the warrior took in scanning the chamber and the terse orders he gave to those directly behind him, stood at the fore of the group. The Grey Warden felt his body tense as sharp, gray eyes settled upon their table, taking in his staring form first, before settling upon Say'reil, who sat eating the meager meal her companion had set before her minutes earlier.

DA:O

"Hmmm…" Darrian was kneeling upon the ground, dried blood encrusting the corpse that lay there, nearly cleaved in two. Alim had turned his back, unable to view the bloody scene, as his fellow Grey Wardens studied the scene with calculating and expert eyes.

Morrigan merely huffed at her fellow mage, who glared at her from a pale face.

"Wasn't killed too long ago," the elven senior Warden was saying to Alistair, who stood over his brother's shoulder, amber eyes scanning the bloodied ground for clues. "Took someone extremely strong and skilled to do this kind of damage."

The elf stood, brushing his hands upon his legs as Alistair nodded his agreement. "Maybe a day, no more than two," the human Grey Warden offered, taking note of how dark the dried blood was, but that it had not taken on the crisp black that would indicate old blood. "The body hasn't even begun to rot."

"'Tis surprising that the body has not drawn in any predators," the swamp witch offered, taking a step closer, her strange yellow eyes fixed upon the hewn body.

"Probably due to the close proximity of the village," Alistair offered, completely ignoring the surprised look the witch gave him. Without another word, the human Grey Warden turned his back to the female mage, stepping around the carnage to take a position at the top of the ramp leading from the highway and into the village.

Giving Alim a reassuring pat to the shoulder, Darrian sidestepped Morrigan, taking a position beside his friend.

"Well, there it is," Alistair quipped, forcing his voice into joviality and Darrian knew it was for his sake the human did so. "Lothering. Pretty as a painting."

Scowling at the sprawling human village before them, Darrian shook his head at his friend. "Stop it, Al," Alistair turned to his brother warden, a frown upon his face. Darrian continued. "You don't need to force it, ya know. Morrigan's gonna snark at you regardless of how you act, so, just be however you feel."

"Lost, alone, depressed," Alistair muttered, his eyes going back to the village.

Startled, Darrian turned his cool blue eyes to the larger human beside him. He had known that Alistair and Duncan had become quite close during the months they had been in the wardens. Alistair, however, having grown up without a father, had taken to seeing Duncan as more of a fatherly figure than a friend or commander. Darrian himself had become close to the human commander, sharing a similar sense of humor with the rogue. However, his relationship with Duncan, outside of command, had been one of friendship. So while Darrian mourned the death of his friend, Alistair was left mourning for a man who came as close to a father as anyone had ever been.

Footsteps behind brought the elven warden's attention back to the mage and witch. Morrigan's yellow eyes were narrowed, focused upon Alistair's bent back. Before she could speak, however, Darrian cut her off.

"Don't even start, Morrigan," the elven warrior warned, his voice cold and hard. Surprised, Morrigan raised her gaze to that of the elf's, predator yellow eyes meeting cool blue. Darrian merely watched her, pulling his best stern expression, causing the caustic witch to pause, then flinch away. Satisfied, Darrian turned back to Alistair, paying small heed as Alim stepped around to the tall human's side to gaze over the small village.

Clapping his friend upon the shoulder, Darrian stepped forward. "C'mon," he ordered, a slight smile upon his face for Alistair as he turned. "Let's go see what there's to be seen, eh?"

DA:O

"Well, well…" the leader of the group intoned in a rough voice as the group of soldiers approached the Grey Wardens' table. Adrian's mouth stretched into a thin line as cold, green eyes bore into the leader's face. Say'reil lifted her eyes, first to Adrian, watching as her companion rose to his feet, his hand slipping to the hilt of his greatsword as it lay propped against his chair. She, too, rose as her eyes shifted to the group surrounding them.

"What have we here?" the man, wearing the insignia of sergeant upon the tunic he wore over his armor. The figure of a wyvern curled upon the front of his tunic, marking the man as one of Loghain's.

"Gentlemen, please," the pretty Chantry sister slipped to the sergeant's side, her accent a soft Orlesian. "These are obviously poor souls seeking shelter from the oncoming storms."

Scoffing, the sergeant turned his attention fully to the woman, ignoring the glare of Adrian as he addressed the woman. "Stay out of it, Sister," he snarled at the woman, who merely blinked her pretty blue eyes at him. "These are Grey Wardens, and are under arrest for treason."

Adrian and Say'reil exchanged concerned looks. Neither wore anything identifying themselves as Grey Wardens; Adrian's armor carried the hallmark of Highever, but had covered any heraldry of Cousland with cloth and grime. Say'reil's identity was easier to hide as she wore her simple leather armor and carried her twinned daggers. Yet as curious as they were as to how the man knew they were Grey Wardens, neither was particularly interested in declaring their identities to any others who may be interested in the bounty.

"Look," Adrian interjected, bringing both the cold brown eyes of the sergeant and the blues of the sister toward him. "I don't know who you think we are, but I'm certain we can discuss this like reasonable people."

The young noble tried to ignore the scoffing and chuckles that rose from the soldiers accompanying the sergeant. Say'reil shifted uneasily on her feet, her hands remaining calmly at her sides, fully aware of the soldiers at her back.

"I was there!" the sergeant hissed between his teeth, spittle flying into Adrian's face, who merely blinked as he sought to retain a calm. The noble was aware of Say'reil's growing unease, but made no move toward her as the man spitting anger into his face continued.

"I was at Ostagar, witnessed the betrayal of our King at the hands of the Grey Wardens!"

"What betrayal?" Adrian found himself asking, scowling. He had been at the battle, had fought by the king's side, and had witnessed the king's own foolhardiness as being the cause for his demise. "The king had no business being on the front lines!" the young noble found himself shouting, his own anger bringing him a step forward, fury reddening his features.

Behind him, Say'reil looked at him with concern, her eyes rising to meet those of the interfering young Chantry Sister. "Calmly," the sister stepped forward, trying to interpose her slim frame between the two large and angry men. "Anger will only result in harm."

"Out of the way, Sister!" the sergeant shouted, shoving the young woman aside. The sound of blades skimming out of their sheaths resounded in the suddenly hushed common room and, amidst screams and shouts of surprise, the soldiers, now with naked blades in hand, surrounded the pair, menacing them with their weapons.

"Go on," one of the soldiers behind Say'reil snarled, "make a move for your knife, ye knife eared bitch!"

"Trust me, _shem_," Say'reil muttered in a low voice, turning her head slightly to glare at the man. "I will have no need to reach for either blade."

The elf and human's eyes met, and Adrian gave a subtle nod to his companion as his hand tightened about the grip of his greatblade. Already, he could feel the magical energy surround the elven mage as they turned to meet their assailants.

DA:O

A small trickle of villagers emerged from the tavern, slipping around the four travelers, who gazed after their retreating backs in astonishment. Frowning in turn, each turned back to the tavern, taking note, as they neared, of the sounds of what could only be a brawl reached their ears.

After a moment's prompting from Darrian – who was more curious of the commotion than the others – the group opened the door to a wave of shouts and cries, the echo of blades clashing and the tingle of magic singing along the air.

It was the taste of magic that prompted the group to enter quickly, weapons in hand, magic recalled. There, in the center of the storm, were Adrian and Say'reil, standing nearly back to back, battling against soldiers wearing the livery of Gwaren. Most of those within the tavern stood at a great distance – many upon the balcony overhead – watching the action, however, a red haired young woman dressed in the ornate robes of the Chantry appeared to be fighting by the Grey Wardens' sides.

A wolfish grin splitting his face, Darrian gripped both blades and dashed into the fray, Alistair close at his heels. Behind them, Morrigan and Alim circled the combatants, preparing spells to assist their fellow Wardens.

It truly was not much of a battle. Adrian was more than a match for the Gwaren sergeant, pushing with his greater strength and skill against the sergeant's own two handed blade. The sergeant tripped backwards, his eyes cold and steely, and Adrian found himself respecting the man's courage, even when facing a superior foe. As another of the sergeant's men fell to Grey Warden skill, the sergeant took stock of his predicament, taking note that of his original ten man contingent, only four remained on their feet. Taking a breath, he twisted away, stumbling backwards from Adrian's long reach, and then stood straight, his blade and hand held in surrender.

"We surrender," he gasped in a raspy voice, eyes fixed upon the fierce features of the young man before him. Fear gripped his heart as, even as the others who had joined the battle had ceased their battles, simply forcing his remaining men back, the large human he had fought took a menacing step forward, green eyes cold, murder clearly written on his face.

"We surrender!" he cried again, his knees shaking even as he strove to maintain his feet. With a crash, he dropped his blade to the floor, hoping that facing an unarmed man would cease the man's progress forward.

It was only when the red haired Chantry sister as well as the dark elven male interposed their bodies between him and the blond man that the sergeant realized he may well be able to leave with his life.

"Hold, Adrian!" the elf ordered, clear blue eyes flashing as he stood firm facing the towering blond. "He gave up, man!"

"There is no need for further fighting!" the Chantry sister cried, glancing to the Gwaren soldier, her hands held up before each man.

"Out of my way, Darrian!" Adrian snarled, raising an arm to shove the smaller man aside.

"Not gonna happen, man," despite the calm of his voice, the elf's eyes were flashing with anger as his body braced itself. "_We," _he purposefully left out the word 'Wardens', certain his brother Warden would understand, "don't cut down those who give themselves up!"

Adrian ceased his stalking, glaring down at the elf before him. It was obvious the man was struggling with himself, the desire to cut down the man who had threatened them mere moments before shining clearly upon his face. With a tense nod, the junior Warden backed down from the senior warden's glare, taking a physical step backward to display his obedience.

Frowning heavily, Darrian turned to the sergeant, who had been watching the exchange with confusion and hope. "Now," the elf said as he faced the human. "Wanna tell me what the Fade that was about?"

"There is a bounty upon the heads of Grey Wardens," the Chantry sister offered as the sergeant stubbornly clamped his mouth tight.

"Really?" the word was drawled out as Darrian's eyes remained fixed upon the human soldier. "So, what? You're out looking to collect?" His eyes hardened. "Do we look like Wardens?" he indicated himself, Say'reil and Alim, completely leaving off Alistair and Adrian.

Ignoring the final question, the sergeant answered, "Not for the bounty," the sergeant bit out, "but honor. You Grey Wardens killed the king, betrayed the armies of Ferelden…"

"What? To the darkspawn?" Alistair scoffed as he and the others, pushing the remaining standing soldiers forward, stepped closer. Alim remained behind, bending over the fallen warriors to see to their wounds.

"I was at Ostagar!" the sergeant seethed, eyes flashing. "I saw the darkspawn overrun the field…"

"Yeah, so obviously it's 'cause of the Grey Wardens betraying the king," Darrian offered in a voice heavy with sarcasm. "Think, man! What is the main reason for the Grey Wardens' existence?" He smirked at the confusion that clouded the man's brown eyes. "It's not a trick question, ya know. Could it be to eradicate the darkspawn?" The sergeant's brow furrowed in anger at the elf's taunting, but remained silent.

Shaking his dark head, Darrian glanced over at Alistair. "So, what do we do? We can't have this goof squad dogging our tails."

"And I don't really like the idea of simply killing them," Say'reil offered as she stepped closer, a frown upon her face as she glared at the humans who had attacked them.

"I say that's exactly what we do!" Adrian scowled fiercely, his eyes glinting as his hands tightened their grip upon his greatsword. "Otherwise, we'll never know a moment's peace!"

"No, wait!" the sergeant cried out.

"They surrendered!" The chantry sister stepped nearer the irate noble. "Killing them now would be dishonorable!"

"Yes, but we would be alive!"

Darrian had turned his attention back to the sergeant, who was watching him closely. Apparently, the man had realized that the elf was the leader of the group and waited patiently for his word. Turning, the elf glanced over at Alim, still bent over the bodies of the sergeant's men, watching as he healed those he could. Sighing, he turned back to his Gwaren foe.

"Take your men and a message back to Loghain," the elf said after a moment's pause, ignoring completely Adrian's glare and Alistair's astonished glance. "Tell him that we know what really happened at Ostagar."

The sergeant stood for a moment, his eyes going to the rising forms of most of his fallen men. Only two remained motionless on the floor. Realization appeared to come into the man's eyes and he gave a nod to the Grey Warden, straightening slightly and offering the elf a salute. A dark brow quirked slightly at the gesture and he, too, saluted the human. "I will do that, Ser," he said, his voice calm, respectful and sure as he motioned his men to the door.

"Well, that went well," Alistair quipped, rubbing his arm where one blade had earned purchase but drawn no blood.

"Ya think?" came the elf's drawled reply. He shook his head, certainly feeling as though no victory had been gained. His blue eyes went to the bodies of the Gwaren soldiers. Certainly no victory there.

"Thank you for sparing those men," the sister stepped closer, her clear blue eyes fixed upon the handsome elf before her.

"Yeah, thanks for the help there," Darrian said as he and the others turned to upright turned chairs. Tossing a pouch to Alistair, he motioned toward the tavern keep. With a sheepish grin, the second senior warden moved to pay the man for the damages.

"Oh!" the sister giggled. "You are more than welcome! I heard those men call you Grey Wardens. I knew I had to help you!"

Smiling pleasantly, amused by the woman's friendly demeanor, Darrian thanked her again. "My name is Darrian," the elf introduced himself before turning to his companions and introducing them as well. Alistair gave the sister a wide, lopsided smile while Say'reil's welcome was more reserved. Adrian was still angry and merely gave the woman a mere nod while Alim smiled brilliantly. Morrigan merely ignored the other woman as she leaned easily against her staff.

"I am Leliana," the sister introduced herself as she grinned at Darrian. "And I am going to continue helping you."

"Oh?" a dark brow quirked up. "Howso?"

"Oh, I am going to travel with you, to end the Blight."

There was a pause as the group moved toward a table, settling down into the chairs. Darrian's blue eyes deliberately scanned the woman's robed figure from foot to head, a frown forming on his face. "Excuse me. I saw your skills during the fight and you are good. But you seem a little…"

"Underequipped?" Leliana offered with another giggle. Now Darrian exchanged glances with Say'reil, who sat to his left. The Dalish mage merely gave the man a slight shrug of one graceful shoulder. "Have no fear, Darrian. I have my old equipment stored in my room at the chantry." Her eyes lit up. "Besides you cannot deny me. The Maker told me I was to accompany you."

"The Maker…told you," Darrian coughed, shaking his head as an amused look crossed Say'reil's face.

"More crazy?" Alistair murmured. "I thought we were all full up," he jerked a thumb toward Morrigan, who glared at the young warden with venom in her eyes.

Darrian did chuckle a bit at his friend's comments, but kept his eyes fixed upon Leliana. The young human woman before him seemed adamant and genuine. He had watched her during the battle. She was quick with her dagger, slipping easily behind her foe. That she led an interesting life prior to her induction into the Chantry was obvious to the elf. A rogue more than likely. He looked into her eyes, and the honesty he saw reflected within those clear depths was obvious.

And, he had always been of the opinion that you had to be more than a little crazy to join the wardens…

"Aw, c'mon, Darrian," Alistair nudged him. "She's skilled, she's pretty," he leaned closer, "And she's a red head. You like redheads."

Blinking in surprise, Darrian cast a quick glance to Say'reil, who merely raised one chestnut colored eyebrow at him. Alistair continued, "…but you also like blondes and brunettes. And there was that really pretty white haired elf…"

"Alistair," came the elf's grated reply and the human warden's rambling about Darrian's conquests ceased. Darrian found himself once again thankful for his dark coloring as he felt his cheeks flush slightly. He really didn't want a recitation of the women he had been with, especially not in front of Say'reil.

"Well?" Leliana prompted.

"And," Alistair drew the word out, "she's perky. We need perky. You know, to offset Morrigan's bitchiness."

Behind them, the witch in question hissed in irritation. Chuckling, Darrian glanced over at Say'reil then back to Alistair. "What about Say'reil?" he nodded toward the Dalish woman. "She's nice."

"Yeah, but not perky," Alistair persisted, grinning at Leliana. "We really, really need perky."

"Thought you fit that description," Adrian muttered from Say'reil's side. Alistair's head twisted quickly, an indignant response upon his lips.

Darrian tilted his head as he looked back to the woman. "We do need all the help we can get," the elf admitted after a moment, completely ignoring the protests from both Adrian and Morrigan. Say'reil and Alim looked at each other and then nodded their approval. Darrian knew already he had Alistair's.

"Okay, Leliana," the elf held out a strong, dark hand, grasping her hand tightly. "Go fetch your gear. We need to restock our supplies and, hopefully, can be out of the village before night falls."

With an eager nod, the Sister rose to her feet and dashed off to gather her equipment. With a shrug, Darrian turned back to his fellow Wardens, his eyes going right to Adrian and Say'reil. "So," he drawled, leaning back in his chair, a wide grin upon his handsome face. "What have you two been up to?"


End file.
